


The X-Men’s Guide to Clandestine Adoption and You

by Laughing_Screaming



Series: Mutant School Confidential [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, All Aboard the Friend-ship, Angst, Family Drama, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Gratuitous '80s references, Hank is Trying, High School, No Romance, Only Ship is Friendship, Ororo Munroe is a Good Friend, Post-X-Men: Apocalypse (2016), Prequel, Raven is Kurt's mom, Swearing, past trauma, teen drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24651157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laughing_Screaming/pseuds/Laughing_Screaming
Summary: The prequel to "How To Bang An X-Man"  that nobody asked for.Set in the weeks following the events of X-Men: Apocalypse, Kurt is adjusting to his new job and home, when a startling revelation threatens to upend his entire life. Hank can't help but meddle a little bit, and Raven's hoping that if she ignores her problems long enough, they'll just go away. Spoiler alert: They do not.
Relationships: Azazel/ Raven | Mystique (past), Hank McCoy & Kurt Wagner, Hank McCoy/Raven | Mystique (past), Ororo Munroe & Kurt Wagner, Raven | Mystique & Kurt Wagner
Series: Mutant School Confidential [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782343
Comments: 92
Kudos: 40





	1. Reach Out

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a prequel to my other story, "How to Bang An X-Man". However, I really don't think that it's necessary to read it in order to understand this one. Obligatory "I don't own any X-Men" comment. Any non-English in the story is from Google, so I apologize for any errors. I welcome any/all comments and constructive criticism. As with my previous work, the chapter titles will be (hopefully) theme/era-relevant song titles or lyrics, which I'll explain at the end of each chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets a late-night phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short chapter just sets up the rest of the story.

**Westchester, Late Fall, 1966. 2:37 AM**

The sound of the telephone ringing inches from his head started Hank from a deep sleep, leaving him momentarily bewildered as to the source of the deafening, unrelenting racket. It took a second, and then a third ring for him to figure it out. The phone had been silent on his bedside table for so long, he had forgotten that it actually worked. He hastily untangled himself from the bed sheets and picked up the phone.

“He-hello?” he croaked sleepily.

“Hank?”

He gasped and sat up immediately when he heard the familiar, wary voice. “Raven! It’s been- I haven’t heard from you in so long, I-”

“I didn’t know who else to call.” Raven stated, her voice hushed and wavering.

Something in her tone chilled him, and he took a deep breath before responding. “Raven, what’s wrong?”

“...Something happened.”

“ _What_ happened?” he pressed, and when she hesitated, added, “ _Please_ just tell me. Whatever it is, we can get through it.”

“I, uh...I had a baby.”

“...Oh.”

“Like, just now. A couple of hours ago.”

Hank pulled the receiver away from his face, her words having knocked the wind out of him. He took a deep breath and rubbed his jawline, before grabbing his glasses off the bedside table and putting them on. “What hospital are you at? Do you want me to come get you?”

“I’m not in a hospital. I was in a bathroom in the basement of an old warehouse.”

His jaw dropped and he stiffened. “Well, you need to get to a hospital immediately! You need medical attention!”

“I don’t- I mean, I feel fine. Mostly fine.” 

“That doesn’t matter! There are so many things that can go wrong immediately postpartum, Raven… extreme blood pressure changes, hemorrhaging, infection…”

“Oh my God, Hank. I’m fine. I walked three blocks to this payphone. I’m fine.” she replied immediately with palpable aggravation. “Plus, it’s not like I can just waltz into a women’s clinic, now, can I?”

He exhaled a long breath, rubbing his forehead. “Tell me where you are so I can come get you.”

“I’m in fucking Europe, Hank.”

“ _Where_ in Europe?” When she only gave a frustrated sigh in return, he resolved to change the subject. “Did the baby survive?” he asked, in a quiet, tentative tone. 

“Oh! Yes.The baby’s alive.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy.”

“Does he seem healthy?”

“Um...I guess? He cries, moves around, opens his eyes…”

Hank pursed his lips and nodded, noting belatedly that she couldn’t see him nod over the phone. He hesitated, unsure of whether his next question was fair or wise. “Who’s-”

“He’s not yours, Hank.”

“Well, I know that! I can do the math, Raven!” he snapped, and then mentally scolded himself. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Look, I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t-”

“Do you remember Azazel?” she blurted.

Hank’s mind filled with flashes of a red-skinned, spade-tailed, black-haired, borderline-mute teleporting assassin who was never seen without a dagger in each hand. “Really?” he breathed in disbelief. “Can you be sure? Because-”

“The baby has a goddamn tail.” 

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

“So I guess I don’t have to ask if you think he’s a mutant?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s...I don’t even know what to tell you, Hank. He’s...like, he seems healthy enough, but I think there might be something wrong with him.” Raven paused, and a faint rustling sound was heard. “He has my eyes and skin color. He has the tail. But there’s...other things? His hands and feet are... _deformed_ , I think. He has _teeth_. Newborns aren’t supposed to have teeth, are they? They’re like a cat’s teeth or something. Not like human teeth.” Another rustling sound was heard, and a clinking noise, ostensibly the sound of Raven adding another coin to the payphone. “He’s been sticking to things. I put him in an emptied-out suitcase and he climbed over the side of it.” She then rushed to add, in desperate bewilderment, “Newborns aren't supposed to do that shit! I thought they couldn’t even hold their heads up!” 

Hank sat in shocked silence as he tried to make sense of the things Raven was saying. When he hesitated to reply, she lowered her voice and practically whispered, “And I think he’s going to be stuck like this. He hasn’t changed at all...not his skin, not his shape...since he was born. What kind of life is that?” 

Finally, Hank steeled himself and sat up straighter. “Okay. This is what we’re going to do.” he stated, “You tell me where you are. I’ll come get the baby. You can come or go. Up to you.” 

“Hank...”

“I’ll take him back here and raise him at the institute. It’s the best place- maybe the _only_ place- in the world for someone like that.”

“Hank.”

“He’ll be safe here, and if he needs any specialized medical care, he can get it. You can be as involved as you want.”

“Hank!” Raven shouted into the phone, forcing him to stop his rambling. “Charles can’t know about this.”

Hank scoffed. “Let’s just say Charles doesn’t pay much attention to the everyday goings-on of this place anymore. I could probably adopt a rhinoceros and he wouldn’t notice.” Raven didn’t respond. “Does Erik know?” Hank pressed.

“No. Erik doesn’t know. Azazel doesn’t know. Nobody knows, except you now, and I’m starting to think even that was a mistake.” Her voice was short and tense.

“I’m just trying to help you.”

“I don’t want help.”

“Then why did you call?”

“I don’t know. I think I just wanted to hear a familiar voice.”

Hank took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Raven, I’m sor-”

“I have to go. He’s waking up.”

“At least tell me the number I can reach you at, so I can check on you.”

“Goodbye, Hank.” she stated plainly, ignoring him entirely.

“What’s going to happen to the baby, Raven?” he frantically demanded, but regretted his tone immediately.

There was a long pause, after which all she said was an abrupt “I’ll take care of it.” 

“What does that mean, Raven?” he pressed desperately, now gripping the receiver with both hands. “What do you mean you’ll ‘take-’”

He was interrupted by the clattering of the other end of the line hanging up.

“Raven? Raven!” he shouted into the phone, even though he could hear that the line had gone dead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter's title is from the 1966 Four tops song 'Reach Out I'll Be There" and it's a pretty awesome song that I thought was fitting. The last verse essentially says "I can tell the way you hang your head, You're not in love now, now you're afraid. And through your tears you look around, But there's no peace of mind to be found. I know what your thinking You're a loner, no love of your own, but darling- Reach out-" Which I liked.  
> The dates at the start of the chapter are...an educated guess, at best. I didn't make a chart or anything. I was just trying to make Kurt not-quite-17 in this story, because he's not-quite-19 in HTBAX. Next chapter will be longer and set in 1983, where the rest of the story takes place.


	2. Cuz I’m the Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash-forward to 1983 and it's better late than never for Kurt to have his first-ever medical check-up. Hank may have gone to medical school, but he may be a little unprepared for this clinic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly just Kurt and Hank in this chapter. Some brief, non-graphic discussion of self-harm.  
> Note: Kurt's adoptive mother's name is Margali. In this story, I have him referring to her by her name and as his mother sort-of interchangeably. Sorry if that's confusing.

**Westchester, 1983. 7:52 AM**

Kurt sat in a wooden chair outside of Hank’s small medical clinic, clutching his hands tightly in his lap, staring at the floor, and bouncing his leg nervously. It had been less than a week since the institute had been reconstructed, and some semblance of routine and normalcy had started to fall into place. For Kurt, this meant moving into Scott’s room and helping his new friends get themselves re-settled as well. It also, unfortunately, meant meeting with Hank for his first-ever medical checkup. 

The rhythmic tapping of sensible footwear on linoleum grabbed Kurt’s attention, and he snapped his head towards the sound, just in time to see Hank round a nearby corner. He was in his ‘normal, professional-looking man’ form, and absently sipped coffee out of a mug held in one hand while fishing his office keys out of his pocket with the other. He didn’t even notice Kurt until he reached, keys in-hand, towards his door.

“Oh!” he remarked in surprise, “You’re early!”

“Sorry.” Kurt muttered, and sank a little further into the chair.

“Not at all.” Hank replied with a slight smile, as he unlocked the door and threw it open. “You can come in. I’ll just be a second.”

Kurt stood and followed Hank into the clinic, which was separated into several small rooms. Hank moved towards the ‘office’ section to set down his things, but pointed Kurt towards the patient exam room. “Why don’t you get settled in there, and I’ll just be a minute?” Kurt nodded once and walked into the small room. “Just hop up on the exam table and take your shirt off.” Hank called out as an afterthought. 

Kurt carefully sat on the edge of the black exam table, and looked around. A white cabinet filled with glass canisters of cotton balls, tongue depressors, and Q-tips was positioned above a black counter with a small sink. There was a scale and a contraption that appeared to measure height. There were posters on the wall encouraging frequent hand-washing and offering simplified diagrams of the circulatory and nervous system. There was a small rack of pamphlets about everything from STDs to iron-deficiency anemia. He drummed his nails on the edge of the table a few times before begrudgingly pulling his shirt off, folding it neatly and setting it beside him. He crossed his arms and hunched over, continuing to nervously scan his surroundings.

After a few moments, Hank stepped into the room, with a clipboard in-hand and a stethoscope around his neck. He plucked a pen out of his shirt pocket and clicked it before starting to jot things down onto the forms on the clipboard. 

“Okay, so…” he started, without looking up from his forms, “this is just a basic check-up, nothing too in-depth, nothing to be nervous about…” He seated himself on a small black office chair next to the cabinet. “First, a couple basics...the name I have here is Kurt Wagner, W-A-G-N-E-R...correct?”

Kurt gave a single nod.

“Middle name?”

“ _Nein_.”

“Date of birth?”

Hank got only a bewildered shrug as a response. “Alright. We’re off to a great start.” He set down the clipboard and stood, putting on his stethoscope as he approached Kurt. “Arms down, please.” he said plainly, pressing the head of the stethoscope to the centre of Kurt’s chest. Kurt held completely still, now gripping the edges of the table. 

After a few seconds spent listening and observing his watch, Hank commented “Your heart rate’s stabilized, so that’s good.” He moved the head of the stethoscope around a few over Kurt’s chest and back. “Breathing, too. Good.”

“They were bad before?” Kurt asked tentatively.

“Just a bit erratic. Now take a deep breath.” 

When the team arrived back at the (mostly demolished) mansion following their fight with Apocalypse, Hank had insisted on giving Kurt a check-up in order to ensure that his mass-teleporting hadn’t caused any permanent damage. Kurt had dutifully complied, but immediately fell asleep in the stairwell outside Hank’s makeshift clinic while he was waiting for Hank to cast Peter’s leg. It was all Hank could do to set him on a salvaged gym mat and intermittently check his vitals, which fluctuated wildly for the over-sixteen hours Kurt was asleep for. Once he woke up, however, he was seemingly good as new.

Hank calmly worked through the rest of the examination, checking ear canals and pupils and feeling lymph nodes. He picked his clipboard and pen back up, leaning back against the cabinet and clicking the pen a few more times. “Alright. Now these are just some basic medical history questions. I ask these to all my patients. Some of them may seem odd or even embarrassing, but I need you to answer honestly. I’m obligated to keep all your answers confidential, and at this point, I’ve basically heard it all. You can’t shock me. Sound good?” 

Kurt gave another quick nod and held his hands in his lap as Hank moved down the long list of standard medical questions (“Do you have any allergies?” “How would I know if I did?” “Are you sexually active?” “Of course not!” “Ever break any bones?” “Hmm. My nose, right elbow, and perhaps left ankle? I don’t know for sure.”). Once completed, Hank set his clipboard down again and reached out for Kurt’s arm.

“It was the right elbow, correct?”

“ _Ja_.” Kurt held his arm out, passively letting Hank move it around and bend the elbow joint repeatedly.

“How long ago?” 

“Four years or so.”

“Does it still hurt?”

Kurt looked up in consideration and gave a small shrug. “Maybe a little, after a hard day of work.”

Hank nodded. “Let me know if it starts to bother you. I can do an X-ray to ensure it’s healed properly.” 

“ _Jawohl_.” Kurt replied immediately, and waited for Hank to let go of his arm. Instead, Hank continued to hold the limb, gently bending the joints and turning it over, examining the unique physiology, having momentarily let his scientific curiosity get the better of him. Eventually, he moved a hand up to Kurt’s shoulder, briefly tracing the line of one of Kurt’s more elaborate scars.

“Were you born with these?” Hank couldn’t help but ask.

Kurt froze, his posture stiffening as his mind raced to get a head of the now-inevitable line of questioning. He had been hoping to avoid this topic entirely. It wasn’t something he had ever had any success at explaining to others. Even when his mother had demanded an explanation for the poorly-hidden bloody rags she had discovered, it had only resulted in tears and yelling. He considered just lying and being done with it, but Hank had been nice to him and had only asked for honesty in return. He took a deep breath and shook his head.

Hank leaned in closer, examining the curving lines over Kurt’s deltoid and upper chest in greater detail. “Did they just show up gradually as you aged, or…” he started, but trailed off as he gently felt around the scars, apparently having answered his own question. Kurt could not look at him. Hank blanched, taking a slow breath as he rocked back on his heels, straightening up as he looked over the scars that almost completely covered Kurt’s arms, chest, hands, back, neck, face. “Who did this to you?” he finally asked, voice low with forced neutrality. 

Kurt glanced at Hank’s face for a split second before giving his head a barely-perceptible shake. “I did it myself.”

“Why?” Hank breathed in dire confusion.

Kurt gave a helpless shrug and looked around the room in desperation for an answer. “It’s a bit of a long story, but the short version is essentially that I’m just not that good of a person?” he attempted, and a quick glance told him that Hank didn’t find that answer remotely satisfactory. He looked down and continued, scratching his head. “I’ve _tried_ ...and, and I’ve prayed, a _lot_...but, it’s just the same sins, the same mistakes, over and over…” He took a deep breath, lacing his hands together on his lap. “What’s the point of just asking for forgiveness when you know you’re just going to keep on the same corrupted path? I need to show that I’m willing to make a real change.”

Hank nodded slowly, taking a slow breath while he pushed up his glasses. “Kurt, can you promise me one thing?” Kurt tilted his head, listening intently. “If, from now on, you feel the need to harm yourself, can you just come talk to me instead?”

Kurt pursed his lips, mulling over the idea. “I really don’t want to bother you with my problems.”

Hank sighed and slumped, relaxing slightly. “I’m a doctor. I went to school for eight extra years so I could be bothered by other people’s problems all day, every day, for my entire life.” Kurt gave a small smile. “So- promise?”

“Okay. Promise.” Kurt agreed with a nod. “In any case, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I’ve mostly run out of space.”

Hank tried to hide his wince. “Moving on. Just a few more things and then you’re free to go.”

Kurt was then instructed to stand on the scale, and then next to the height-measuring apparatus. Hank jotted some notes down and flipped through a small collection of charts. 

“Hmm.” he said once Kurt had re-taken his spot on the exam table. “Have you experienced any weight loss recently? Any change in eating habits?”

Kurt furrowed his brow in recollection. He remembered fighting with his brother about money (or lack thereof). He remembered crouching in the corner of a cage and having a bowl of inedible-looking slop shoved towards him, only to have it wrenched away when he asked for a utensil to eat it with. “It had been difficult to find steady work for the past year or so.” he finally concluded.

Hank nodded professionally and flipped a page on his clipboard. It was ostensibly some form of growth chart. “So, essentially, you’re here-” he explained, pointing towards the dot he had marked on the page. “But I’d like you to be here,” he added, moving his finger up a few centimetres. “at a bare minimum.” Hank waited a moment as Kurt leaned forward to squint at the small graph. “That means you need to eat more, every day. Understood?”

Kurt narrowed his eyes skeptically. “I feel like I already eat my fair share.”

Hank, undeterred, crossed his arms. “I doubt that. Did you even have breakfast this morning?”

“Hmm. _Nein_.” Kurt begrudgingly answered. “But it’s because there were only two eggs left, and I didn’t want to use them all up.” Hank stared back, unimpressed. “And I considered having some cereal, but I hadn’t seen that brand before, and I could not recognize any of the listed ingredients, so I figured I’d better not.”

Hank sighed, and put his pen back in his pocket. “Alright. So, first of all-” he started, leaning back against the counter, “you can eat the eggs. We’ll just get more eggs. We get eggs all the time. Secondly, the cereal is completely safe to eat, but I would recommend going for a breakfast cereal that _doesn’t_ have a cartoon character on the box, for nutritional reasons.” Kurt nodded along. “Most importantly, you need to keep in mind that your caloric requirements are significantly higher than those for an average, similarly sized young man, and you need to adjust your nutritional intake accordingly.” 

Kurt nodded again, leaving Hank with the distinct impression that it was a polite, placating gesture. So he decided to take a different approach. “So, you’ve seen how much Peter eats?” Hank asked, gesturing towards Kurt with both hands.

Kurt pulled back with a bewildered look on his face. “Oh, he is _constantly_ eating. It’s _absurd_! I have no idea how he does it!” 

“Well, that’s because his metabolism is much faster than average. His power burns _a ton_ of calories, so he needs to eat much more than normal in order to function.” Kurt looked down thoughtfully. “So, you’re sort of like that. Certainly not to that extreme, but it’s the same basic idea. Teleportation requires a lot of energy on it’s own, but add in your natural athleticism, and the fact that you’re still growing, and you can see how you just need more food than someone like, say, Scott or Ororo. What looks like ‘your fair share’ in the context of people you know is not actually fair to you, considering your needs. Make sense?”

“ _Ja_ , thank you.” 

Hank smiled and turned to the cabinet, setting his clipboard down on the counter. He opened the cabinet door and took out a small metal tray that contained four capped, pre-filled syringes. He casually set it next to Kurt on the exam table.

Kurt’s eyes shot open as he glared at the small tray, hunching over involuntarily as he clung to the exam table with hand and foot, just to force himself from backing away and possibly up the wall. His tail slapped the white enameled side of the table with a metallic thunk. “ _Was ist-_ I’m sorry. I’m sorry. What are those?” he stammered, and had to quickly grasp his tail in his hand in order to keep himself from simply flicking the tray away in an act of automatic self-preservation. 

Hank, who was no stranger to needle-phobes, affected a soothing tone. “They’re just the first in a series of vaccinations. I took the liberty of assuming that your inoculation records were either incomplete or absent.”

“Will they make me sick?” Kurt asked breathily. He had started hyperventilating, but was trying to calm himself by breathing through his nose. This only served to make him slightly dizzy. The weak, uncoordinated feeling brought back harsh memories of the reeling nausea and disorientation that accompanied the last time he had gotten a needle- some form of mutation-suppressing drug that was cruelly jabbed into his thigh, three times a day, every day, for almost nine months. It inhibited his teleportation ability, keeping him trapped in a cage, but also left him sickened and helpless. 

“Oh, no!” Hank assured warmly. “It’s quite the opposite. The purpose of these injections is actually to prevent several serious illnesses.” he explained, lighting up at the opportunity to explain something technical to somebody, “In fact, many of these diseases have been almost completely eradicated In modern times, due to the efficacy of global vaccination programs.” 

“Oh.” Kurt responded, tilting his head in partially-feigned interest. He wanted to believe what Hank was saying, but he wanted to avoid getting an injection even more. “Like leprosy?” he asked, taking note of how animated Hank had become.

“Ha! No, not leprosy…” Hank laughed, shaking his head.

Kurt shrugged. “I read about it in the Bible.”

“Think more like Diphtheria and Rubella.” Hank grinned, crossing his arms. “Leprosy is virtually unheard of in North America these days, unless you spend a lot of time around armadillos.”

“Around _who_ , sorry?”

“Armadillos.”

Kurt gave a small, confused shrug. Hank smiled again, snapped his fingers, and quickly walked out of the room. He was back a moment later with a large zoological textbook,flipping through it gleefully.

“Here we are! An armadillo.” 

Kurt leaned forward, hands laced together, to examine the image on the page Hank had opened the book to. He glanced back up at Hank and smiled, taping at the picture with his claw-like nail. “Oh! That creature. It’s very cute.”

“Well, yes, I guess they are…” Hank admitted. “But you should avoid them if you see them, because they can harbor the bacteria that causes leprosy.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to remember that.” Kurt replied seriously. “If I were to encounter one, I would probably have tried to pet it.”

Hank huffed a small laugh and closed the book, setting it down on the counter. Kurt watched him do this nervously, and his mind raced to try and think of how to keep Hank redirected. “I wouldn’t worry much about it. You won’t find them this far north.” Hank assured, as he stepped closer to the exam table again. 

“I knew about that animal from before. I just learned to call it something else.” Kurt interjected, trying to sound casual. 

“Oh? And what was that?” Hank replied curiously. 

“A _Gürteltier_.” 

“ _Gürteltier_ …” Hank echoed, his hand on his chin. 

“ _Ja_. It means-”

“Wait. Let me guess…” Hank interrupted, holding his hand up. “These German compound words have always fascinated me.” Kurt smiled and nodded. His plan appeared to be working. “ _Gürteltier_ …” Hank repeated again, slowly, while looking downwards. “Is it… ‘shield animal’?”

“Close!” Kurt announced, and Hank looked genuinely disappointed. “It’s ‘belt animal’.”

“Arg! Of course!” Hank groaned, shaking his head. “That makes so much sense!”

“You may have been mixing it up with the turtle, which we call ‘ _Schildkröte’_.” Kurt explained politely. “That’s ‘shield toad’.”

Hank set his hands on his hips, nodding appreciably. “That’s really interesting. So, ‘ _Schild’_ is ‘shield’ and ‘ _Gürtel’_ is ‘belt,’ or, in this case, ‘girdle.’” Kurt smiled and nodded once in confirmation. “It’s all so simple. Now I feel stupid.” The tray of needles sat ignored on the exam table. 

Sensing an opportunity, Kurt grabbed his shirt in one hand and reached out to pat Hank’s shoulder with the other. “Perhaps it’s better we just agree that we both learned something new today.” he suggested pleasantly, in the same instant that he hopped off the table and stepped towards the door. “ _Danke_ , Doctor McCoy. _Auf Wiedersehen_!” he called out as he pulled open the door, waving goodbye and starting to pull his shirt over his head. 

Hank laughed to himself and waved back. “Sounds good, Kurt! You’re welcome! See you later!” he happily replied. He gave his head a shake and picked his clipboard back up, smiling to himself until he glanced towards the exam table and saw the tray of needles still sitting there, forgotten and unused. “Oh. Damn it.” he muttered under his breath.

Kurt hadn’t even reached the door separating Hank’s clinic space from the hallway when his upper arm was firmly grasped. 

“Not so fast!” Hank said, annoyed, as he started to pull Kurt back into the exam room. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh?” Kurt feigned innocence. “No?”

“Back on the table. Shirt off.” Hank ordered once they were back in the exam room and he had shut the door again. Kurt once again complied, but this time balled up his shirt, nervously clutching the fabric in his lap. Hank set his hands on his hips, shaking his head, his posture shifting from stern to sympathetic. “You could have just told me you were afraid of needles.” 

Kurt stared into the messy shirt ball in his lap, pulling it closer to his abdomen. “I’m not afraid of needles, I’m afraid of what happens afterwards.”

“ _Nothing_ happens afterwards!” Hank immediately argued, but then sighed and added in a softer tone, “It will sting for a second. Your arm might be a little sore for the rest of the day. Some people can have very mild fever-like symptoms, and feel a little tired and achy, but it’s nothing a Tylenol and a nap won’t fix. Sound okay?”

Kurt could only manage a slight, stiff shrug.

It was apparently satisfactory for Hank, because he stepped forward and picked the first of the syringes off the tray. He framed the muscle of Kurt’s shoulder with his free hand and quickly uncapped the needle with his teeth before positioning it, but the short jabbing motion he took a split second later moved uselessly through a thick cloud of blue-black smoke. Hank jumped back and flailed his arms, started by the loud spectacle of teleportation, as well as the fact that his patient had just disappeared. 

“ _Es tut_ \- I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-” rattled breathlessly from above Hank’s head. Hank spun around the see Kurt wedged into the corner of the room closest to the door, up near the ceiling, clinging desperately to the walls with uniquely adapted hands and feet. His eyes were wide and his breathing was frantic, and his tail waved defensively in front of him. “I’ll do all the other things you told me to do, I promise, but I just- _bitte, bitte, bitte_ …”

Hank stood, gawking with his arms at his sides, lamenting how nothing in his medical training had prepared him for this. Finally, he set the unused injection back in the tray, and set the tray back in the cabinet where he had gotten them. “There. It’s gone.” he said softly, holding both hands up. Kurt did not respond or move, but he did take a couple of slower, deeper breaths. Hank pulled the office chair towards him and sat down, lacing his hands together in his lap. They stared at each other, Kurt peering down warily while Hank’s brow had furrowed with concern. “Kurt, did someone do something to you? Hurt you? And that's why you’re afraid?” 

Kurt’s mouth opened slightly, mind full of memories and things he wanted to scream out but couldn’t bear to lend breath too. How much did Hank know?

“Because you don’t need to apologize to me. And I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.” Hank continued calmly. “It’s just that, as your doctor, I want you to be as healthy as possible, just like I do for all my patients. Do you understand that?”

Kurt chewed his lip for a second before giving a barely-perceptible nod. He then allowed himself to slide down the surface of the wall until he stood on the floor, albeit still in the corner next to the door.

Hank smiled politely. “Thank you. Now, can you tell me if you’ve ever been sick? As in, sick enough to go to the hospital?”

Kurt shook his head rapidly. “My mother said that if I even went into a hospital, I would never come back out.”

Hank’s smile fell. “...Oh.” He straightened up and continued. “Well, how about any other time? Can you remember ever being ill?”

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, but then brought his hand to his chin when he realized he didn’t actually know the answer. For as long as he could remember, he had always been exceedingly healthy. Even when a chickenpox outbreak had swept through their camp and both of his siblings had been practically bedridden, he had been only mildly affected. Once, he had even overheard his mother bragging to some of the other women about how hearty and resilient her youngest child was. This had only led to a series of nasty rumors that Margali hadn’t _adopted_ Kurt so much as sacrificed a normal baby to the devil in order to summon him. 

Eventually, a series of vague memories came rushing back, and he looked upwards and scratched his neck as he struggled to put them in order. “There was one time…” he started, unsure of how to describe what he recalled, “when I was maybe six or seven, I was very feverish. I couldn’t move my neck, and my head hurt so badly, I could barely speak. I don’t remember very much about it, and the days ran together. I think I was dreaming much of the time. I don’t know what illness it was, but I do think it was serious, because I remember that every time I woke up, my mother was crying.” 

Hank nodded seriously as Kurt spoke, and then leaned forward with his hands pressed together when Kurt had finished. “So, it’s impossible to know for sure, but that sounds to me like meningitis. If that’s the case, then you’re very, _very_ lucky to be as healthy as you are today. Many children who suffer from that infection, especially with minimal medical intervention, have health problems for the rest of their lives. Deafness, blindness, brain damage, seizures...assuming that they’re fortunate enough to survive.” Kurt, still pressed into the corner, listened intently. Hank leaned back in the chair, setting his hands in his lap. “It’s not something we see very often anymore, because most children get a vaccine to prevent it in infancy.”

Kurt slumped into the corner, tilting his head slightly. “Oh.”

“Kurt, your mother was right to keep you out of hospitals and other institutions when you were young. And I can’t imagine things have been easy for you or your family…” Hank started carefully, “But if you had been able to go someplace like this-” Hank leaned back in his chair, holding his arms out to indicate the entire institute, “where people like us are _accepted_ and _understood_ , you would have gotten the same level of medical care that other children your age would get. And then your mother wouldn’t have had to cry so much.” 

Kurt stared back, giving an almost-imperceptible nod. The implications of Hank’s explanation boggled his mind. He just couldn’t wrap his head around being able to go to a hospital or a dentist or a playground or a school. How long had this facility been here?

“So…” Hank said tentatively, motioning his hands towards the still-empty exam table with a patient smile. Kurt gave a long, shaky sigh and a quick nod.

No more than three minutes later, Kurt was tugging his shirt back into place while Hank tossed the last of the needles into a sharps container. 

“See? Nothing to it.” Hank commented pleasantly as he picked his clipboard back up. “Looks like that’s everything. You’re free to leave.” 

Once again, Kurt hopped off the exam table. “ _Danke_ , Doctor McCoy. I’m sorry for being so difficult.”

“Oh, not at all. Please don’t feel the need to apologize.” Hank assured, with a quick pat to Kurt’s not-needlestuck shoulder. “And anytime you have any questions, or even if you just need someone to talk too, feel free to drop by.” he added, and Kurt smiled warmly. “Us blue people have to stick together, after all.” Hank continued as an afterthought, smiling back. 

Kurt tilted his head as he quickly looked Hank up and down. The brown-haired, conventionally handsome, bespectacled doctor had what could best be described as a peaches-and-cream complexion. “I’ll keep that in mind.” he replied with a quick nod, and headed towards the door.

“Wait! I almost forgot!” Hank called after him. “Can you drop by the Professor’s office? He told me he’d like to see you at some point today.”

Kurt nodded yet again and walked into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the 1982 song "I'm the Doctor" by Motörhead. It's a neat little song about healing through the power of rock 'n roll and brain implants...rather than through sensible diet and evidence-based medical practices, which is typically what Dr. McCoy advocates...
> 
> Some aspects of Kurt's past that I touched on in this chapter are things I go into more detail about in HTBAX, but I hope it's not so confusingly vague that it makes it hard to understand this story. It isn't really overly important to the rest of the plot.


	3. High School Confidential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if a medical checkup wasn't enough, now Kurt has to do schoolwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should be pretty tame unless you have a lingering fear of being sent to the principal's office.

Kurt teleported up two stories, around the corner from the Professor’s office. He walked up to the closed, solid wood door and hesitated, wringing his hands briefly before bringing his fist up to knock on the door. 

“Come in, Kurt!” resounded from within the room before his knuckles even touched the wood.

Kurt opened the door just enough to peek in. Charles was sitting behind a large, expensive-looking wooden desk that was stacked with paperwork and picture frames. He had his hands folded on the desk’s surface, looking at Kurt expectantly. “Doctor McCoy said you wanted to see me?” 

Charles gestured towards one of several expensive-looking upholstered wooden chairs positioned in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

Kurt quickly complied, lacing his fingers together in his lap. Charles pulled some papers out of a drawer and set them on his desk. He tapped them with all five fingers repeatedly as he explained them to Kurt. “The reason I asked you here is so we could conduct this academic equivalency evaluation, and then perhaps expand on some of your language and communication skills, if we have time.” As he spoke, he handed the thick stack of stapled-together papers to Kurt, followed by a pencil and a calculator. 

Kurt accepted the items and couldn’t help but laugh nervously as he experimentally flipped through the pages of the evaluation form. It consisted of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of questions about a wide range of topics. “I, ah...I’ve never taken a test before.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not really a test. It’s a cognitive skills assessment, to help quantify your abilities and learning needs.” Charles assured.

Kurt frowned. That was literally exactly what a test was. 

“Please take a seat in the vacant classroom across the hall.” Charles said, pointing out his office door and into the empty room. “Take as much time as you need. I understand that English is not your first language, so if you run into any words you don’t understand, feel free to ask Mrs. Pendergast in the administrative office for assistance.” 

Kurt stood and turned towards the door, but quickly turned back as an afterthought. “You’re not afraid I’ll cheat if I’m by myself?” As part of a travelling Romani circus, and a mutant besides, he had been frequently accused of cheating, stealing, scheming, spying, and almost everything else, for as long as he could remember. He had always tried to live an honest lifestyle, but he was hyper-aware of other’s suspicions.

“Again, this isn’t a test. You’d gain nothing from cheating.” Charles explained again in the same reassuring tone. “Besides, you hardly seem like the ‘cheating’ type.” he added with a half-smile. Kurt smiled back and gave a quick nod, heading towards the door. “Plus, I read minds! I’d know!” Charles called after him. 

Kurt spent the next two hours filling out answers in the provided spaces while sitting alone in a darkened classroom. He considered turning on the light, but it really wasn’t necessary, and was a waste of electricity. Most of the questions were sensible, and some were even embarrassingly easy. Others left him scratching his head. How was he supposed to know the second president of a country he had only lived in for two weeks? Was there _any_ logic to standard units of measurement? Most confusing was the Math section. It started off easily enough, but quickly moved beyond basic addition, multiplication, and fractions and into complicated, nonsensical equations Kurt couldn’t fathom the purpose of. This was compounded by the calculator he had been provided with. It was nothing like the simple, well-worn one that his mother used to keep track of their finances. This one was large and covered with seemingly dozens of buttons, some marked with symbols and figures that he had never seen before. It made even basic functions seem complicated. He poked it analytically, and then mashed it a few times in frustration, before finally giving up and collecting his things.

He handed in the test pages, pencil, and calculator to the lady in the administrative office next door and walked back to Charles’ office. Again, he was called in before he could knock, and was directed towards the same chair.

“How did that go?” Charles asked as soon as Kurt sat down, lacing his hands together on the desk again.

Kurt looked down, picking at the fabric of his sleeve. “I think I may have failed it.” he admitted.

Charles gave a sympathetic, although mildly frustrated, sigh. “This evaluation isn’t something you _can_ fail, Kurt. We’re merely trying to conduct an assessment of your skill level in a variety of topics, so we know what type of help you may require.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes as he thought, tilting his head slightly. When the fight with Apocalypse was over, Hank had conducted a brief assessment on him- shining a flashlight in his eyes and asking him to follow simple commands, all the while explaining that it was a screen for concussion or other forms of brain damage. His troupe’s senior trapeze artist had performed a similar, if simplified, version of the same screen on him a few times after a hard fall or mistimed jump. This test he had just completed must be a more thorough form of that. But that still didn’t explain for what purpose he was being assessed. “‘Help I require’...to do what?” Kurt asked, echoing the Professor’s statement.

Charles relaxed in his chair with a kind smile. “Well, that depends. What do you _want_ to do?”

Kurt froze with his mouth open, slumping. What he ‘wanted’ had been irrelevant for a long time. He had accumulated an extensive list of things he didn’t want, but wasn’t what he had been asked. He stared into his lap, fidgeting with his fingers as he tried to remember the last time he was allowed to do exactly what he wanted to do. 

“I used to be an acrobat.” he finally blurted. 

Charles huffed a small laugh. “Yes. Perhaps now we could set our sights a little higher, hmm?” he replied easily, his tone slightly patronizing.

“I was a very, very good acrobat.”

“I have no doubt.”

Charles pulled a pad of paper out of a desk drawer and flipped to a fresh page before grabbing a rather fancy-looking pen. “Now, Raven has told me that you say you’ve had no formal education.” Kurt gave a quick nod. “And yet you are, at the very least, bilingual. How did you learn English?”

“My mother taught us, from when we were around five or six years old. She would read us simple bedtime stories in other languages, and eventually she would get us to read them to her instead. In every town we visited, she always looked for books for sale in English, French, Italian, Polish...We had four or five different bibles, one was even in Latin. We traveled a lot so she thought it was important that we always be able to talk to people, no matter where we were.”

Charles jotted a couple words and looked back up. “Can you speak or read any languages other than English and German?”

Kurt shrugged and nodded. “I speak and read French about as well as I do English. I’m not great at Italian pronunciation but I can understand more than I can say. I can read some Latin, and I picked up some Romani from my mother and her older friends. And small amounts of a few other languages. Essentially, you could drop me in almost any country in Europe and I could probably get directions or find a restaurant...things like that.” 

Charles made more notes, looking impressed. Kurt cringed and began to backtrack. “That’s not to say I’m really that good at any language other than German, though. My sister was a much better English speaker, and became fluent in a few more languages. My mother said this was because I kept reading the same books over and over.” he hurried to explain.

“I’m sure you’ll get along just fine.” Charles assured before turning his pen around in his fingers. “What sort of books did you like to read?”

Kurt lit up, straightening himself up in the chair. “Oh! Well, I had a German translation of _Frankenstein_ that I read until it sort of…” Kurt paused and flitted his hands around, miming how the book had eventually disintegrated. “I think my favorite French book was _Les Trois Mousquetaires._ In English, I really liked _Captain Blood_ , but when I was young, I loved _The Velveteen Rabbit_.”

Charles gave an approving laugh. “Ah. Classic British literature.” Kurt smiled back. “We have a rather extensive library at the institute. I do hope you take advantage of it.” he added. Kurt smiled even more.

Just then, the office door opened and Raven leaned in, waving a few sheets of paper at Charles. “Hey, Charles- they finished printing off that thing you wanted. You guys about done here?”

Charles glanced from Raven to Kurt, who returned a bewildered stare, and then back to Raven again. “Yes, I’d say we’ve covered everything we need to. Kurt, if you could accompany Miss Darkhölm-”

“‘Miss Darkhölm’, Charles? Seriously?” Raven interrupted, rolling her eyes. She pointed to Kurt with the sheets of paper. “You, come with me. And just call me ‘Raven.’”

Kurt stood, muttered “Thank you, Professor.” to Charles with a polite nod, and followed Raven out of the room. 

******

Raven, in her ‘normal-looking blonde woman’ form, walked quickly up the hall. Kurt followed at her heel.

“So, Hank said you had a check-up today?” she asked as she walked, not looking at him.

“ _Ja_.”

“Huh. Your arm hurt?”

Kurt rubbed the shoulder Hank had given him his injections in. “... _Ja_.”

“Yeah, he has that effect on people.”

They continued up the long corridors, taking several turns until they entered a section of the institute that Kurt was completely unfamiliar with. The rooms they passed now seemed to mostly be offices, populated by administrative staff. 

“Where are we going?” Kurt asked, peering curiously in the rooms they passed. 

“We’re going to hand this in to the Registrar’s office, so they can get you enrolled in the classes you need to take.” Raven answered, pointing to an office a few doors up the hall.

Kurt stopped in his tracks, mouth dropping open. Had he overstayed his welcome, or accidentally agreed to something he didn’t understand? When Raven noticed he was no longer following her, she turned and gave him a questioning stare and began to look impatient when he didn’t immediately follow or offer explanation. “I don’t have any money and I don’t know where my mother is.” he blurted.

Raven gave an annoyed shrug. “We know.”

“Not that we really had much money growing up, so in any case, whatever the tuition is, I’m sure I can’t pay it, so-”

“Yeah we know. It’s fine. The tuition here is based on, like, a ‘sliding scale’ so families don’t have to pay more than they can afford, which-”

“And regardless, I’ve never been in a school before, and this seems like a very nice school-”

“Oh, it is. It’s a world-class education.”

“So I can’t imagine I’m smart enough to qualify to be here.”

Raven paused to flip through the sheets of paper she still held with a frustrated sigh. “Kurt, this isn’t Harvard. Kids don’t get in by being really smart. They get in by being mutants.”

“Either way, I'm sure I’m too old, too far behind. It would not be fair to take a spot that a different child, a smarter one, one that’s actually a normal school age, could otherwise have…”

Raven slumped, shaking her head slightly. “If you’re that worried about it, you should know that the school does offer remedial classes. Not that you really need them, according to that test you just took…” she replied, flipping through the papers again. “Except in math, apparently. But math’s fuckin’ lame, so…” She trailed off, still looking at the printout, as he clutched his hands together and stared back silently. She huffed in frustration, tapping the bundle of papers against her fingernails. “Seriously, though. If you didn’t know you were supposed to start taking classes, then what did you think this evaluation was for?” 

He shrugged dramatically, eyes wide, and held his hands up. “I thought the Professor wanted to see if I had brain damage!”

“Why would you have brain damage?” Raven shot back. 

“I don’t know! I thought the test would show that!” Kurt replied immediately, exasperated. 

Raven tipped her head back, shutting her eyes with a brief groan before staring at him for a few seconds. “Kurt, why do you think that you’re here?”

He clutched his hands together again, hunching involuntarily and blinking a few times. “To teleport things?” he replied easily, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

Raven shrugged and tossed her currently-blonde hair behind her shoulder. “Well, we don’t need anyone to do that right now.”

“Oh.” He shifted uncomfortably, staring at his feet. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what skills he obtained, no one could find any use for him for very long. “If nobody needs me, then I should probably go.”

Raven gave an aggravated scoff. “Go _where_?”

Kurt hunched further, looking at the floor and around the room. “Back to Germany. I’m sure I can find something to do there. I could work in a warehouse, or maybe a coal mine.”

“A goddamn _coal mine_.” Raven echoed.

“ _Ja_. I can see in the dark and squeeze into small spaces. And I could never get trapped.” he explained.

“Amazing. That’s just...that’s just great.” Raven replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. “That way, by the time you’re thirty-five, you might have fifty bucks to your name and the inside of your lungs will be the same color as your hair.”

“It’s honest work.” he answered quietly. “And besides, everyone is the same color in the dark.”

Raven sighed heavily, shifting her feet and looking at the floor for a second. “Yeah, no. You see, the Professor has this whole _thing_ about homeless blue people. He kinda likes to collect them. If he finds out I let you ‘bamf’ away to go get squished in a tunnel collapse in fucking Holzweiler, I’d never live it down.”

Kurt paused, staring back at her for a moment. “I promise not to get squished.”

Raven put her face in her hands and groaned again. Finally, she lowered her hands and stared at Kurt as seconds ticked by, setting her hand on her hip as her expression became more sympathetic. “You’ve never been unemployed, have you?” she asked plainly. “Like, you’ve _always_ had a job, right?”

Kurt’s tail flicked nervously and he nodded. “I’ve worked for the _Jahrmarkt_ for as long as I can remember, until about a year ago.” He stared at his hands, wringing them, before adding quietly, “It’s been difficult for me since then.”

Raven sighed. “Yeah, no kidding.” She straightened up, and gestured towards him with the papers. “So, I think what’s going on here is a major case of culture shock. Like, most American teenagers just go to school. They don’t have jobs. If they do, it’s like a weekend shift at Dairy Queen or something like that. And that’s fine. They’re not, like, burdening everyone they know just by getting an education or whatever. It’s what’s expected and required.”

Kurt furrowed his brow as he considered what Raven had just said. It did seem true, in retrospect. Jean used to babysit, and Scott had mentioned that he had worked in a movie theater over the summer. Similarly, Jubilee talked about working occasional shifts at an ice cream parlor, and her parents sometimes sent her letters with money and instructions to just ‘have some fun.’

“And, like, just because we’re not experiencing a global catastrophe _right now_ , doesn’t mean we won’t need you when that _inevitably_ happens in the future. But we can’t have you runnin’ around, representing the X-Men, with a fourth grade education, not knowing how to do long division.”

Kurt frowned and stiffened slightly. He actually did know how to do long division. Mostly.

“And, like, it’s not gonna be disaster after disaster after disaster, either. Having a skill set other than back-flips and teleporting and kicking people is going to be really important. I mean, look at Hank, for example. He’s a doctor. He teaches. He does, um, _science shit_...he has an airplane...Not bad for a guy who’s actual mutant power boils down to being able to punch things really hard.” Raven paused to flip through the first couple sheets in the papers she still held. “Like, look here- according to this evaluation, your communication skills are actually pretty advanced for your grade level. And you’re fluent in several languages and have a background in show business. Could you see yourself as a drama teacher? Maybe a German or French teacher?”

Kurt couldn’t withhold a scoff. “I don’t think so. I’m from Germany and I speak some French. That hardly qualifies me to be a teacher.”

“Okay, so, I can see why you would think that, being from Europe,” Raven answered, pointing to him, “but things are a lot different in America. Being able to speak more than one language is a novelty here.” Kurt narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Like, look here…”

Raven motioned for him to follow her, and quickly made her way up a nearby hallway, to a part of the school where smaller seminar-sized classrooms were found. She stopped just shy of the doorway to one of them, peering inside. She gestured for Kurt to do the same. Inside the otherwise empty classroom, Hank stood at the chalkboard, having ostensibly finished up his morning medical appointments. Unaware he was being watched, he pounded two chalk brushes together to clean them, and then frantically started to wave his arms around to disperse the thick white cloud of chalk dust, coughing with his eyes clenched shut. 

“So, that’s one of the smartest people you’re ever going to meet,” Raven explained, “and he knows a staggering _two_ languages…” She turned back to face Kurt, holding up one finger. “English…” She paused a beat before holding up a second finger, “and the worst Spanish you’ve ever heard in your entire life.” 

Kurt quickly suppressed a laugh, pulling back from the doorway so Hank wouldn’t notice them. 

“I’m a hundred percent serious.” Raven confirmed with a nod. “We were in a Mexican restaurant once, and he was trying to impress the waitress by ordering in Spanish- I thought the poor girl was gonna cry!”

They both burst into hushed laughter this time, with Kurt muttering “Oh, no!” under his breath.

Soon, with Hank none the wiser, they started moving back towards the Registrar’s office. Raven held up the sheets of paper and gestured towards them again. 

“So I’m saying- take the classes. Get your GED. And who knows what can happen in a few years?” 

Again, Kurt stopped walking, standing off to the side to allow others to pass. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched over, glancing at her briefly before looking at the floor. “And I get kicked out if I fail, _ja_?”

Raven scowled. “No. You just try again until you pass.”

Kurt sighed and shifted his stance uncomfortably. “I don’t know.” he muttered guiltily. 

Raven opened her mouth and raised a hand to argue, before immediately deciding against it, setting her jaw and raking a hand through her currently-blonde hair. “You know what? Why don’t we forget about this for now.” she said, waving the handful of papers. “We can deal with it later. You just go find some of your other little friends or whatever. I’ll get back to you on this.” 

Kurt nodded once and turned to leave. “Wait!” Raven called out as an afterthought. “Just don’t, like, run away or join another circus or do anything weird.” she added. “At least not for the next couple of days.”

He returned a polite smile as he turned to leave again. “Okay, I promise!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title comes from the 1980 Rough Trade song of the same name.
> 
> Also, in case it wasn't completely clear from Kurt and Raven's interactions, he doesn't know she's his biological mother yet. She's really trying to avoid that conversation, and he's just like "Huh. I guess like, 10% of mutants are just blue for some reason. Neat."


	4. Takin’ Care of Business and Workin’ Overtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven asks Hank for a favor. Kurt gets a new job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty short, tame chapter that mostly sets up future events.

Hank had just finished cleaning chalk brushes and was currently drawing some diagrams on the board in preparation for his Advanced Genetics seminar class. With the chalk still in contact with the blackboard, he twisted around, glancing back at his textbook for reference as he finalized the details. He was so engrossed in his task that when he heard Raven’s voice from the doorway, he couldn’t help but jump. 

“Hey, Hank, you got a minute?” she asked, leaning partially around the door frame.

He glanced at his watch. “I actually have six minutes.”

“Okay, sure. This won’t take anywhere near that long…” Raven responded, taking a couple of steps into the classroom. She softened her stance, holding both hands up as she asked, “I need you to do me a favor.”

Hank gave a casual shrug. “Sure. What is it?”

“It’s, like, a really big favor. A huge favor. You’d be doing me such a solid.”

“Um, alright. Care to tell me what it is?” Hank replied, now a little concerned.

“So, I need you…” Raven started carefully, “to give Kurt a job.” She paused a beat and elaborated, “Just something simple, maybe like sweeping up your workshop or washing all those fancy science bottles or whatever.”

Hank gave a small shrug and an easy smile. “That’s not a problem. I’m always looking for an extra set of hands around here.”

“And I also need you to not pay him any money.” Raven added seriously. 

Hank furrowed his brow, pulling back slightly. “Then that’s not a job, Raven. That’s just extra chores.”

“Well, yeah, technically...but it’s really important that he _think_ it’s a job, though…” she explained, scowling slightly as she tried to collect her thoughts. “Because he’s convinced himself that if he isn’t currently working, then he’s inconveniencing us all by continuing to breathe...which I guess makes sense if you've been steadily employed since the age of four.” she continued, unaware she’d started rambling. 

Hank nodded along. “That’s fine, then. I’m sure I can-”

“Besides, I’m sure his job skills are basically just somersaults, so you probably won’t feel like you should pay him anyways..” she added, crossing her arms and looking at the floor.

Hank held his hands up to try and calm her ranting. “I’m sure he’ll be a big help. Even having some company for a few hours a day would be refreshing.”

“To be honest, I was surprised to find out that he can read, so…”

“He’s not stupid, Raven. That’s pretty obvious.” Hank interjected seriously, crossing his arms. “If he needs any training to help out, I’ll just train him. It’s that simple.” 

Raven looked away with a stiff shrug she probably hoped looked casual. 

“He’s a good kid.”

Raven glanced back briefly. “I guess.”

“Did you tell him yet?”

Raven’s head spun towards Hank with a wide glare and a bewildered scoff. “No! Holy shit! Why would I do that? God…”

Hank leaned against the teacher’s desk, slumping in disappointment. “You’re going to have to eventually.”

Raven threw her hands up in aggravation, pacing a few steps. “I’ll get to it when I get to it!”

“Because if I’m going to be working with him every day now, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep it to myself…”

“You **goddamn well** better.” Raven essentially growled. 

Hank stared back and crossed his arms, completely unthreatened. 

Raven sighed heavily and her shoulders fell, defeated. “What’s the point, anyways? What I tell him and he just, I dunno, blames me for every shitty thing that ever happened to him in his entire life?”

Hank returned a half-smile. “That’s just parenthood in a nutshell.” he said plainly, before adding, “Besides, I don’t think he’s big on playing the ‘blame game.’”

“What if he starts wanting me to do _mom stuff_?”

“Like what? Bake a casserole?” Hank laughed.

Raven frowned with a helpless shrug.

“You’re right. That would be a disaster.” Hank deadpanned, and Raven scowled back. They stared at each other for a few seconds, until Hank relaxed, nodding towards Raven as he picked his chalk back up. “You can just send Kurt to the workshop after breakfast tomorrow.”

******

“Thank you for this opportunity, Doctor McCoy.” Kurt said politely as Hank led him through his workshop. 

“Not at all, Kurt. I’ve been begging Charles to let me hire on a helper for months now.” Hank replied, not looking back, as he moved towards a supply closet at the back of the large room. He opened the door and turned to Kurt, gesturing towards the assortment of cleaning supplies and assorted other items. “So, here’s where you'll find most of the supplies. I have some paperwork to do in my office over there,” He paused to point towards a door on the other side of the room. “So If you want to get started by sweeping the shop floor, that would be perfect.” 

“ _Jawohl.”_ Kurt replied with a nod, and moved towards the supply closet. 

“Hmm. I don’t actually know what that means.” Hank commented, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just a more formal ‘yes.’” 

“Ah. Neat.” Hank turned and walked towards his office.

******

Hank had completed only a small portion of his paperwork when a faint knock was heard on his office door. 

“I’ve finished with the sweeping, Doctor McCoy.” Kurt said as soon as Hank looked up. 

“Oh!” Hank looked at his watch, and then back up to Kurt, who was peeking from around the frame of Hank’s office door. “That was quick!” Another quick look into the workshop itself indicated that Kurt spoke the truth and the floor was indeed clean. 

“What would you like me to clean next?”

“Um…” Hank had thought that sweeping would keep Kurt occupied for most of the morning. “If you have time, you could clean the windows?” he suggested with a noncommittal shrug. 

Kurt gave a quick nod and immediately ran off.

******

This time, when the knock came, Hank was digging deep into the recesses of one of his filing cabinets.

“Doctor McCoy? I finished with the windows.” Kurt stated from the doorway, wiping his hands off on a rag. “The ones nearest to the ceiling were very dirty.”

Hank stared back, blinking, as his mouth straightened. The workshop had high ceilings, and the highest windows were about twenty-five feet off the floor. 

“I noticed that some of the equipment in the back is very, um, grimey…” Kurt started tentatively, now clutching the rag in both hands. “Like the laith, and the, um... _Bohrmaschine_.” Hank sat up in his chair and furrowed his brow, curious. “If you wanted, I could take them apart and clean them.”

“Please refrain from disassembling the equipment.” Hank blurted. 

“Oh! I would put them back together when I was done!” 

“Do you _know_ how to put a drill press together?” Hank asked skeptically. 

Kurt nodded emphatically.

Hank hesitated, and raked his hand through his hair. He glanced down at the massive stack of paperwork he still had yet to complete. “You know what? Go nuts.”

******

Hank had finally put the finishing touches on his paperwork when Kurt appeared in his doorway again. Hank glanced at his watch- it was just about lunch time. 

“I’m all finished with the-” Kurt trailed off, and mimed the hand motion required to utilize a drill press.

“Drill press.” Hank offered.

“ _Ja_.”

“Hmm. Let’s see.” Hank stood and followed as Kurt led him to the workshop’s collection of machining equipment. Kurt moved along quickly in a jaunty half-walk/half-skip gait that Hank had noticed him use a few times when he seemed excited. His tail swung back and forth with each step. He stopped near the base of the drill press, standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back. Hank looked over the piece of machinery,and then stepped closer to experimentally touch the knobs and movable parts. Finally, he turned it on and went through the motions of using it, finally convincing himself that it worked. 

“It’s like it’s brand new!” Hank confirmed, sounding impressed.

Kurt smiled, but said nothing.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Hank inquired. So much for Raven’s assessment of Kurt’s work skills consisting of somersaults.

“Oh! Well…” Kurt shrugged and looked down. “Nothing we had at the circus was new. We all needed to lend a hand, maintaining our equipment and keeping things running. My family’s generator was actually four broken generators patched together...all of our appliances were at least twenty years old…” He trailed off, but then looked up with a bright smile. “Our car had been repaired so many times that we joked that it essentially ran on prayer!”

Hank nodded along, hand on his chin, as he looked back and forth from Kurt standing proudly and the now-gleaming piece of machinery. Far be it for him to look a gift horse in the mouth. He smiled and gave Kurt a pat on the shoulder. “Thank you for your help today. Why don’t you run off to lunch, and meet me back here same time tomorrow? I might have something a little more interesting for you to work on.”

******

“So, the basic idea behind ‘oxy-fuel’ or ‘gas’ welding, when compared to MIG welding, is that the fuel- in this case, acetylene- in this tank is combined with oxygen from that tank, to create the flame and achieve the required temperature to melt the metal, which in this case is stainless steel…”

True to form, Kurt had returned to Hank’s workshop bright and early, and now listened eagerly to Hank’s drawn-out and possibly over-enthusiastic explanation of modern-day welding techniques. For as long as he could remember, Hank had always had more ideas than he had hours in the day to work on them. Even once he had set up a suitable space to work on his various inventions, he found himself limited with what he was able to achieve with the time and resources available to him. This was compounded by how he spent as much time in his lab and his medical clinic as he did in his workshop, and how he had to rebuild and restock almost everything when the mansion was recently destroyed. And whether out of necessity or force of habit, he almost always worked alone. Now, however, he can’t help but feel a little giddy at the thought of what he could accomplish now that he may have found someone reliable to help with everyday maintenance and the less-complicated parts of his more time-consuming projects. 

“-as opposed to using an inert gas, such as argon, to shield the weld from imperfection-causing atmospheric gasses…”

Kurt continued to politely nod at Hank’s continued explanation, until a break in Hank’s speech allowed him to point towards the acetylene tank with the spade of his tail. 

“The welding setup we had used gasoline. It was easier to obtain.” Kurt mentioned casually, as he leaned in to look at the welding torches that were laying on the workbench. 

“You guys had a gas-welding apparatus?” Hank questioned skeptically.

Kurt shrugged and nodded again. “It was not as nice as this one.”

“Did you ever use it?”

“A little bit. To fix the _Zuckerwatte_ machine.” 

“Hmm?”

“Um...candy floss?”

“Cotton candy?” 

They briefly stared at each other and shrugged, before Hank stepped back and made a sweeping motion towards the welding equipment with his hand, indicating for Kurt to give it a try. He watched in fascination as Kurt picked up the welding helmet, tried it on, took it off, adjusted the strap, put it back on, and then raised the shield. He reached for one of the welding torches and hesitated. 

“Are we cutting or welding?”

“Let’s start with cutting for now.”

Kurt selected the proper torch and lowered the welding shield over his face with a quick bob of his head, before turning the knobs of the adjacent gas tanks to what Hank noted was approximately the right levels. Hank belatedly thought to throw on his own welding goggles just as Kurt used the sparker to light the torch. 

“Ha! This is not your first rodeo!” Hank commented with a grin. 

“Oh? Is there going to be a rodeo?” Kurt asked, head tilted and voice muffled by the full-face welding mask. 

“Um...no...it’s just an expression that means that you’ve done this before.” Hank explained, and Kurt’s mostly-featureless mask appeared to nod in response. “Not a lot of rodeos in this part of the country…”

Hank took another step back to observe as Kurt carefully started using the torch to cut through the piece of steel scrap that Hank had provided. His technique wasn’t perfect but it was workable, and his work ethic and eagerness to please were an asset in and of themselves. Hank’s mind raced with possibilities of the sort of things he’d be able to accomplish now that he had some competent help. First thing first, however- making some three-fingered welding gloves…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title, of course, is from the 1973 song "Takin' Care Of Business" by Bachman–Turner Overdrive. It's just a fun, classic song.  
> Note: I can't actually weld. I read a wiki page about welding. I hope Hank's little ramble about welding wasn't too inaccurate.
> 
> Next few chapters actually have plot development, so I might post the next one in a few days or so.


	5. Kick ‘em When They’re Up, Kick ‘em When They’re Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt tries to have a productive Saturday with Hank and his friends. Raven has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated R- for RUDE.

Over the next couple weeks, Kurt had quickly adapted to a new routine of taking the classes the Professor selected for him and helping Hank out for a few hours a day, and sometimes longer on weekends. This schedule, combined with homework and training sessions, kept him fairly busy, but did allow for some downtime and occasional outings with the other new X-Men. 

Much to his surprise, he _liked_ school. He liked working with Hank. He liked his new friends, and he liked his X-Men training sessions. His daily routine was just the right amount of hectic, and he was growing accustomed to the American culture and lifestyle much faster than even he anticipated. His budding friendships with the other similarly-aged new X-Men recruits (plus Peter, who was older but didn’t act like it) helped to offset the homesickness and loneliness he felt when he thought about his family. Most of all, he could not get over the feeling of comfort and relief he had every morning when he woke up in a place where mutants were not only accepted, but embraced. No longer did he have to hide in the cramped caravan, until the cover of night or the glare of the circus’ floodlights permitted him some freedom. No longer did he have to constantly ‘read the room,’ prepared to at least try and negotiate his humanity. He wasn’t even the only ‘visible’ mutant in the school, although he was still probably the most obvious one- especially considering the mansion’s other blue residents were only ever blue when it suited them. Regardless, there were whole hours - or even days - at a time where he could believe that he actually fit in.

But he did have a lot of math homework, though, so it wasn't all great. 

Currently, it was early afternoon on a Saturday, and he was sitting cross legged on his bed, hunched over one of many math assignments he was expected to complete. On a nearly identical bed on the opposite side of the room, Scott lay back, casually tossing a baseball up into the air and catching it repeatedly. They had just gotten back from the morning’s exhausting training session, and were killing some time before they were meeting their friends in the kitchen for lunch. 

“Put that away, man. It’s Saturday.” Scott demanded, and turned his head towards Kurt immediately after having caught the baseball for possibly the ten thousandth time.

“I know, but I’m almost done of it. I’m stuck on one problem.” Kurt replied, without looking up. He set his pencil down to pick up his calculator and started experimentally pressing buttons. “Do you think you could help me?” he asked quietly. He knew Scott disliked helping him with his math homework and didn’t want to bother him, but Scott’s plainly-worded explanations were much easier to follow than his math teacher’s complicated lectures. 

Scot sighed and turned over in his bed, now facing Kurt. “Are you sure you didn’t just forget the ‘order of operations’ again?”

“I...don’t know?”

“It’s ‘BEDMAS’.”

“Bed...mass. _Danke_.”

“You know who would probably be a better help?” Scott said, having rolled back onto his back and resumed throwing his baseball, “Ororo. She’s really good at math. I heard Hank going on about it to her the other day.”

Kurt paused from frantically erasing a large chunk of writing and frowned. “I don’t know. They’re making her take quite a few extra English courses. She probably has more homework than I do. I don’t want to bother her.”

“Pfft. English class is no big deal.” Scott scoffed. “Plus, now when she has to do a book report on ‘ _The Outsiders_ ,’ she can just watch the movie, instead of having to actually read the book like the rest of us did.”

Kurt glanced up with a shrug and looked back at his math assignment. Scott caught his ball again and held it in his grip, turning his head towards Kurt again. 

“Hey- do you think Jean likes me?”

Kurt smirked to himself before looking up from his assignment. They had been having some variation of this conversation at least daily for the past week. He returned a friendly smile. “I think most people like you.”

Scott slumped and dropped the ball on his bedspread. “No, I mean, like- _likes_ me?”

Kurt shrugged and tilted his head, still smiling. “Well, why wouldn’t she?”

“Shit, man. Do you need me to write a novel?”

“If you did, then the first chapter would be about how you are too hard on yourself.” Kurt replied with a definitive nod.

Scott laughed, shaking his head, and picked his baseball back up. He turned it around in his hands, running his fingers over the stitches. “So, maybe, like...when we all go to the mall after lunch, and if Jean’s around, you could be, like, my wingman? Like, if I tell a joke and you laugh at it, maybe she might think that I’m funny?”

Kurt stared at Scott for a few seconds, and then burst into laughter when it appeared that he was actually serious.

“Yes! Like that! Exactly!” Scott said enthusiastically. “This is why I need you!”

Kurt gave a long sigh, just to keep himself from continuing to laugh. Scott started to frown when he realized that he was being laughed _at_ , rather than _with_. “I don’t think that we can trick Jean, who reads minds, into thinking that you’re funny.” Kurt explained gently.

Scott groaned and crossed his arms behind his head. “Well, I have to do something! I need to go on the offensive-”

“Oh, I think you definitely shouldn’t do anything offensive.” Kurt interjected with a touch of concern.

Scott furrowed his brow for a split second and continued along. “I need to do something that impresses her. She’s easily the hottest girl in the whole school.”

Kurt gave a small shrug and tapped his math assignment with his pencil. “She’s very pretty, _ja_. Although it seems that all the girls we know are very beautiful.”

“Huh. Yeah, you’re right. I wonder why that is?” Scott mused. “You think we’re just lucky? Or do you think that it’s, I dunno, like an evolutionary thing? Like mutants are just way hotter than average for some reason?”

“No, I don’t think that.” Kurt replied plainly.

“Wait! I got it!” Scott exclaimed, and sat up on the edge of the bed. “After lunch, you and me and Jean and Jubes go to the arcade! It can start off like a just-friends thing, but then we can try to morph it into a double-date!” he explained excitedly, moving his hands around.

“Why do you think Jubilation would agree to that?” Kurt questioned, staring at Scott with his head tilted.

Scott scoffed. “Dude. She’s, like, _obsessed_ with you.”

Kurt shook his head. “I don’t think she wants to date me. She likes when I let her try to pick out clothes for me. She perhaps thinks of me like a doll.”

Kurt could have sworn that Scott rolled his eyes, although his red-lensed glasses made it impossible to be sure. “Holy shit, man. _Hot girl attention_ is _hot girl attention_. No need to overthink it. Most guys would be thrilled to have a chick fuss over them like that.”

Kurt returned a half-smile. “Besides- I’m much better at video games than you, Scott. If we go on a double-date to the arcade, I’ll leave with two girlfriends and you’ll have none.”

“Fuck off!” Scott yelled, and threw his pillow in Kurt’s direction. Kurt easily batted it away with his tail and they both laughed. Once it died down, Scott hopped off the edge of his bed and moved towards the door. “I don’t know about you, man, but I’m starved.” 

When they arrived in the kitchen, Peter was already sitting at the small table in the breakfast nook, with a dirty bowl in front of him, eating fistfuls of dry Frosted Flakes out of the box. One of his crutches was laying on the floor nearby and the other was leaning against an adjacent wall.

“‘Sup, dudes.” he called out flatly with his mouth full. Kurt waved back and started collecting a plate and a knife to make a sandwich. Scott made a bee-line for the fridge. “If you’re looking for that leftover chicken soup, I already ate it.” Peter called out when he noted Scott searching through the jumbled collection of items in the large refrigerator.

Scott swore under his breath and hung his head.

“Could you pass me the sliced turkey, Scott?” Kurt asked.

“Ate that too, sorry.” Peter added before Scott could even reach into the fridge. 

“There’s still ham.” Scott offered to Kurt, who took it and thanked him. “Guess it’s tomato soup from a can for me, again…”

Once they had fixed themselves something to eat, Kurt and Scott sat down at the table close to Peter, with Scott in the middle. Peter had dug his way to the bottom of the Frosted Flakes box, and perked up with surprise when he pulled out a small packet. 

“Huh, neat. Anyone want a _Strawberry Shortcake_ sticker?” he asked in a bored tone. 

Scott scowled and Kurt muttered a polite “No, thank you.”

“What do you guys got on after this?” Peter continued, setting down his now-empty cereal box and leaning as far back as his chair would allow. He started scratching underneath his leg cast with the handle of a spoon, but stopped when Kurt softly slapped the back of his hand.

“Oh, nothing-” Scott started, but was interrupted. 

“We’ve been trying to figure out how to make Jean fall in love with Scott.” Kurt explained with a broad smile. Peter burst into laughter while Scott pinched the bridge of his nose with an aggravated groan. Scott’s crush on Jean was easily the worst-kept secret in the school. 

Once he stopped laughing, Peter gave Scott a friendly slap on the back. “Well, the way I see it, you need to go on the offensive-”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying!” Scott agreed, while Kurt made a somewhat disgusted face. 

“She’s, like, the eighth hottest chick in the school-” Peter began to elaborate, generating a scoff from Scott. 

“ _Eighth_ hottest? Seriously?”

Peter held his hands up as he explained, “See, I’m a little older than you guys, so I’m also counting Raven and all the teachers and admin staff.” Scott crossed his arms and raised a skeptical eyebrow. Peter continued unabated. “My point, obviously, is that she’s out of your league.”

“I know.” Scott stated emphatically, arms still sternly crossed.

“So if you want my advice-” Peter leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. 

The sound of distant, familiar chatter was heard. “The girls are coming!” Kurt announced in a hushed tone. He immediately started hurriedly un-popping the collar of Scott’s polo shirt while Scott started batting him away ineffectually. 

“Oh, shit!” Peter exclaimed, and quickly licked the palms of both hands before running his fingers through Scott’s hair, pushing it to one side and flattening it down. 

“Gross, man! What the fuck!” Scott protested, struggling to avoid the attention of both his friends. 

“Kurt said ‘Ze girls’ are coming.” Peter repeated, over-emphasizing Kurt’s accent. “And we all just agreed you need serious help.” Scott finally succeeded in pushing Peter’s hands away from his head. “We just increased your fuckability by, like, thirty percent.” 

“We just want you to be presentable.” Kurt attempted to explain in a soothing tone, all while trying to suppress his laughter. He finally perfected Scott’s collar as Scott frowned, arms crossed. Peter and Kurt cast an appraising glance over the very annoyed young man seated between them, and nodded to each other in approval, with Peter flashing a quick thumbs-up. No sooner were they back facing forward in their own seats did Jean, Ororo, and Jubilee walk into view. 

“Hey guys!” Jubilee chimed, hopping into a chair. She tossed one pigtail behind her shoulder and craned her neck towards the fridge that Jean had immediately opened. “Jean! Just give me mine now. I like it cold.”

“Gross.” Jean said flatly as she removed a large Tupperware container from the fridge and opened it to reveal a collection of leftover pizza. She started setting pieces on the three plates that Ororo had already placed on the counter. 

“Damn! There was pizza?” Peter groaned, gawking at Jean and Ororo arranging and microwaving pepperoni pizza slices. 

Jubilee reached up to snatch the plate of cold pizza that Jean telekinetically delivered to her. “Not for you, there isn’t!” she replied, punctuated by taking a large bite while staring Peter down. Peter narrowed his eyes at her, crossing his arms childishly.

Jean and Ororo soon joined everyone else at the table. “So what are we doing after lunch?” Jean surveyed as she picked a burned piece of pepperoni off her pizza. 

“We gotta hit up the mall.” Jubilee stated seriously. “If I don’t get that Cyndi Lauper album, I might actually die.”

“Hey, I have an idea!” Scott interjected, trying to sound casual while he nudged the side of Kurt’s ankle with his sneaker. “Why don’t we check out the arcade? Haven’t been there in a while…” he trailed off, having mostly directed the suggestion to Jean. 

Jubilee lit up, and Kurt started to nod along, until a sudden realization struck him. He checked his watch and gasped. “Oh! I’m sorry, I can’t! I told Doctor McCoy I would help him with some Blackbird maintenance this afternoon.”

“Goddamnit!” Scott snapped, and Jean and Ororo exchanged conspicuous glances as to why Scott was apparently so emotionally invested in the arcade. 

“But Peter is very good at video games, he might like to-” Kurt offered helpfully, until he felt the side of Scott’s sneaker connect with his bare ankle bone. “Ow, Scott. Stop kicking me.” he muttered reproachfully. Scott clenched his fists and stared into his bowl of soup while Peter tried not to laugh. 

“Ugh, it’s so bogus how you have to do all these extra chores…” Jubilee commented with a frown. 

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Kurt replied with a shrug. “I like to keep busy. Plus, it’s the least I can do, since I can’t pay tuition.”

“I can’t pay tuition, and I haven’t been assigned extra work.” Ororo pointed out. 

“ _Ja_ , but you’re very smart, though. Doctor McCoy even said so.” 

Ororo took a bite of pizza crust, and then leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “If I’m so smart, then why do I need to take all these English classes?”

Kurt gave a short, easy shrug. “Because English is a terrible, ridiculous language that has no rules and makes no sense.”

“Whoa, okay…” Peter mumbled, sounding as offended as possible with his mouth full of Jean’s rejected burnt pepperoni pieces. 

Ororo nodded thoughtfully as she considered Kurt’s explanation. “Well, that _is_ true…”

Peter, having now stolen additional pepperoni from Jubilee’s plate, could only manage an annoyed grunt.

“Regardless-” Jean redirected, holding both hands up, “I really doubt that the Professor, Raven, and Hank had a meeting where they agreed that young mutants from all walks of life deserve to have a normal, well-balanced adolescence...except Kurt, because he’s stupid and poor.”

Kurt laughed and shook his head. “I really don’t mind though. I like being busy.” He gathered up the last of his sandwich. “Idle hands are the devil’s playthings.” he added, before eating his final bite of ham sandwich and stepping away from the table. He put his plate away and waved goodbye to his friends. All except Scott, who was still scowling at him, smiled and waved back. “Have fun at the mall! I’ll see you all later.” he called out, and then teleported to the workshop.

******

“So, according to my performance diagnostic, part of the reason that the Blackbird isn’t achieving the kind of output that one would expect from an engine with the same specifications is that we may have some leakage that we’re unaware of. My most recent analysis suggested that the most likely culprit is _that_ -”

Hank paused in order to crouch down and point a small flashlight through a small open panel in the fuselage of the Blackbird, highlighting a distant joint in one of the dozens or hundreds of pipes and tubes that seemingly filled the aircraft. Kurt peered into the dark, cramped space curiously, nodding as Hank jiggled the beam of the flashlight in order to make his point. 

“So, our task for the next few days is to work on disassembling the joint in order to replace the fiberglass gaskets we’re currently using with these new polychlorotrifluoroethylene ones, to see if they better withstand the temperature and pressure fluctuations one would expect in a aircraft engine with this altitude range.” Hank explained, holding up the two new gaskets he had procured. 

“So just take that apart,” Kurt pointed towards the area Hank had previously indicated. “and put those in?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“That sounds simple enough.”

“Hmm. Yes and no.” Hank replied, crossing his arms and staring into the opening in the side of the aircraft. “You see, the joint we need to work on is so inconveniently positioned with reference to all our access panels, that in order to get to it, we’ll need to remove a much larger panel of the fuselage. That will probably take up most of the rest of the day, if not part of tomorrow. Once _that’s_ done, _then_ -”

“Do you want me to just crawl in there?” Kurt interrupted politely, his hands clasped in front of him, tilting his head towards the not-exactly-human-sized open access panel. 

“Uuh...” Hank’s mouth hung open as he glanced back and forth between Kurt and the opening in the side of the aircraft. Kurt was a lean young man, but could otherwise not be described as small. “You think you could fit in there?” he finally asked skeptically.

“ _Ja_ , I know that I could.” Kurt replied easily. “It would save us time, _nicht wahr_?”

Hank stared into the darkened, cramped space analytically and winced. “I don’t want you getting stuck, though.”

“I can’t get stuck. I can just teleport out when I’m done.” 

“Hmm. I suppose that’s true…” Hank admitted, his hand on his chin. 

“And any extra tools I need, I can just reach out with my tail and you can hand them to me that way.” Kurt added, picking a small wrench up with his tail as demonstration. 

Hank nodded slowly as he considered what Kurt was saying, finally clicking his tongue and sighing. “You know what? If you feel like you can do it, go ahead. I’ll be right here.” 

Kurt sprang into motion, reaching towards the nearby tool box. “Which ones should I take?”

Hank grabbed a socket wrench and a rather large screwdriver. “These should get you started.”

“ _Danke_.” Kurt tucked the tools into the pocket of the shop coveralls he was wearing, which had been modified to accommodate his tail. He stuck his head, and then both arms, into the hole in the side of the plane, pausing to investigate his new surroundings for a second until he eventually hoisted the rest of his body into the small space. 

“Wait! Don’t you want the flashlight!” Hank called out as an afterthought. 

“No, thank you. I don’t need it.” Kurt’s voice echoed from within the metallic chamber. 

“Oh. Right.” Hank muttered to himself. He heard the soft thumping sound of Kurt moving towards the part of the piping that needed work, and sighed. He pulled a small stool away from one of the nearby work benches and sat on it, folding his arms and feeling kind of useless.

Hank used his unexpected free time to organize the large assortment of screws and washers that he had accumulated in his toolbox into small, carefully labeled containers. He was so engrossed in his task that he didn’t notice Raven approaching until she tapped his shoulder. 

“Having fun?” she questioned with a smirk as he startled, causing him to almost drop the small box of unsorted tiny metal things. 

“Yes, actually.” he replied smugly, straightening his posture. 

“Hmm. I thought Kurt was supposed to be helping you today?” she asked in a disinterested tone, kicking the concrete floor with the toe of her shoe.

“He is. He’s in the airplane.” Hank replied, jerking his head towards the open access panel. 

“Oh. Neat.” Raven glanced up towards the cockpit, squinting. “Sorry for, you know, kinda throwing that in your lap, by the way. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Not at all. He’s been a great help.” Hank returned a quick smile, but then became more serious. “For example, he’s _in the airplane right now_.” he added pointedly, tipping his head towards the plane more dramatically than before.

“Huh. Yeah, you said that.” Raven set her hands on her hips, looking bored. “Didn’t picture him as the ‘aircraft maintenance’ type.”

“He’s actually pretty mechanically inclined. All the mechanical equipment for the circus, as well as the family car, needed a lot of routine maintenance, apparently.” Hank explained. “He can even weld! I mean, not very well...but we’re working on it!”

“Hmm.” Raven scratched behind her ear. “I don’t know why, but I always pictured, like, horse-drawn wagons and shit like that. I guess I should have paid better attention the one time I was there.”

Hank nodded stiffly, glancing towards the plane again. “If you want to talk to him, I can send him to see you after he’s done here.”

Raven scoffed loudly. “No, I don’t want to talk to him! I don’t even wanna look at him! How would you feel if your worst mistake followed you around like a..a..giant teleporting mosquito?”

Hank stammered, and gestured frantically, first holding his finger to his lips to try and shush her, and then quickly pointing with the same hand towards the airplane, before finally giving up and holding his hand over his mouth in defeat as she continued her outburst unabated. 

“And before you ask- No, I haven’t ‘had a talk’ with him. The more I think of it, the more I think that wouldn’t do either of us any good. We don’t live in an after-school special, Hank. Doing dumb shit just because ‘it’s the right thing to do’-” She flitted her hands about, emphasizing how foolish she thought the idea was.”doesn’t actually help anybody. It just makes everything weird. Besides, he already has a chick he calls ‘Mom,’ or, like, ‘ _Mutti_ ’ or whatever. Just because he doesn’t know where she is doesn’t mean he needs me. How many mothers does one person require?”

“Raven, if we could just-” Hank attempted to redirect her, but was completely unsuccessful. 

“I mean, I didn’t _intend_ for him to come here. I just wanted to keep him from getting squashed by that weird feathery kid. He just happened to be standing right next to me when I found out I need to get back in a hurry. I’ll admit it was quite the coincidence.” she continued with an easy shrug. 

Hank had given up, and now hunched on the stool with his hands pressed together against his mouth, with a dire expression on his face. 

“And now he’s, like, _there_ all the time. I swear he’s literally behind me every time I turn around. And one of the other kids- probably Scott. I’m gonna blame Scott- taught him to say ‘No problem’ so now he says it _constantly_ and it’s driving me out of my mind. It’s like ‘No problem, no problem!’ every time you ask him to do _anything_ -” 

“Could I have a larger socket wrench, _bitte_?” came a quiet voice from inside the fuselage. Raven froze and her mouth dropped open as she watched a slim blue spaded tail unfurl into view, holding a socket wrench out to Hank. 

Unsure of what else to do, Hank silently and robotically took the socket wrench from the grip of Kurt’s tail and replaced it with the next size up. He and Raven both watched the tail disappear into the opening in the side of the plane. 

She turned to stare at him, mouth still gaping. “I did tell you he was in the plane.” was all he could say.

Meanwhile, all Raven could do was clench her fists and yell “ **FUCK!** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title is the chorus from the 1982 Don Henley song "Dirty Laundry". It's super catchy, and just as (if not more) relevant today as it was when it was released. I guess nothing ever really changes.  
> As with the previous chapter, I hope that the blurb on gaskets and airplane maintenance wasn't too wildly inaccurate. I'm certainly not an airplane mechanic or anything like that.  
> I was pleased to briefly return to my favourite writing format, which is "X-Men sitting around and talking." Sadly, it would be another two years before Scott was able to successfully orchestrate a double-date of any type.  
> Now that the shit has hit the proverbial fan, it will continue to hit the fan and subsequently fly about the room for the next few chapters.


	6. Karma Chameleon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shit has hit the fan and now it's time for it to spin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's mostly just angst and yelling, guys.

“I _did_ tell her he was in the plane, by the way.”

“I thought you meant he was in the cockpit! Not the...the...goddamn _engine block_!”

“A human being can’t fit inside an engine block, Raven. He was _actually_ in the fuselage.”

“ARG!” Raven stopped pacing around Charles’ office just long enough to rake both hands through her hair. “Oh my God, Hank! Who gives a FUCK!”

Hank, Raven, and Kurt had relocated to Charles’ office following Raven’s accidental confession in the workshop, in an attempt to perform some damage control. However, the discussion quickly devolved into a yelling match between Hank and Raven. Charles tried in vain to direct the conversation, while Kurt perched in one of the expensive wooden chairs across in front of Charles’ desk, with his knees drawn to his chest and his tail wrapped snugly around his ankles, having said nothing and been addressed by no one. He wrung his hands anxiously as he observed a fight that somehow had everything and yet also nothing to do with him.

Hank shrugged in aggravation, his arms flopping back against his sides. “This wouldn’t even be an issue if you had just told him the truth when he first got here.” he pointed out smugly.

Raven rolled her eyes, tipping her head back with a groan. “Oh, please. The only reason you even care is because you’re such a goddamn Boy Scout, the idea of keeping a secret for more than ten minutes stresses you out.”

Hank threw his head back with a bitter laugh. “Are you kidding me?! I’ve been keeping this secret for _sixteen years_!” 

Raven gasped and pointed accusingly at Hank, but Charles managed to interject before she said anything. “Now, wait one moment…” he said firmly, holding both hands up, “At any point was anyone planning on informing _me_ of this... _situation_?”

Raven spun towards him, face twisted incredulously. Hank stared back and only uttered a plain “...No.”

Charles let his hands fall back onto the desk. “Well, why not?” he complained. 

“For one, this entire saga unfolded while you were, in all likelihood, _blackout drunk_.” Raven shot back. 

“That’s actually true.” Hank confirmed. 

Charles frowned, raising one finger as he struggled to come up with a retort. 

Hank was faster. “Which raises another question. How is it that _your own sister_ brings a blue, yellow-eyed teenager to _your_ school, and you suspect _nothing_ and ask no questions?” he asked Charles, as he leaned back against the window ledge and crossed his arms. 

“Admittedly, whenever there is more than one blue person in a room, it all seems a bit suspicious…” Charles explained sternly, holding his head up, “but after knowing you two for the past few decades, I’ve long since stopped asking those sorts of questions, in order to preserve my sanity.” 

“Ooooh! Burn!” Raven called out, pointing towards Hank, as he returned an annoyed, bewildered scowl. 

“Um…” Kurt finally said quietly, leaning forward just enough to tap his nails on Charles’ desk in order to get his attention. When Charles glanced towards him, he practically whispered “Can I go?” while pointing with his thumb towards the door. Charles gave a quick, single nod and so Kurt teleported away. 

Charles cast a glance towards the now-empty chair and sighed. “All that aside-” he started firmly, “now that the ‘cat’s out of the bag,’ so to speak, it’s only fair, Raven, that you have a talk with him. Answer any questions he has. Maybe apologize for some of the harsher things he inadvertently heard.”

Raven flopped down into the chair wearily and scratched her head before sighing and muttering a begrudging “Yeah, you’re right.”

“You might also want to explain to him why you left him with a travelling circus, rather than having me take him here, which, if you recall, I offered to do.” Hank added, unprompted, and continued to lean against the window ledge with his arms crossed, waiting for a reaction. 

“Holy shit. It’s not like I just tossed him to the nearest clown.” Raven argued. Charles raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “I picked out a nice family. Mom, brother, sister...they even had a cat!”

“But you didn’t tell me that!” Hank replied angrily, gesturing towards her with both hands. “For YEARS I didn’t even know if he was alive or dead, because you just said you’d ‘Take care of it’ and then didn’t ever tell me anything, ever again!” 

“Oh, whatever.” Raven scoffed, slumping in the chair and rolling her eyes. “The only reason you offered to take him was to strong-arm me into getting back together with you. You couldn’t raise a fucking infant, be serious.”

Hank gasped, truly insulted. “YOU couldn’t raise an infant!”

“I KNOW!” Raven screamed back, gripping the arms of her chair. “That’s why I left him with some woman who already had two kids! I KNEW I couldn’t keep him! Just like I knew that you,” She pointed accusingly at Hank, “and you,” She pointed this time to Charles, who pulled back in surprise, “and especially his fucking father were not exactly up to the task, either.” 

Hank scowled, brows knitted together, and opened his mouth to reply, but was quickly cut off by Raven again. 

“And this may come as a _fucking shock_ to you, but not everything I do has something to do with you. I didn’t do this to _hurt_ you. I didn’t _plan_ this to get back at you. I never wanted ANY OF THIS with anybody, ever.” she stated intensely, panning her arms around her. “I had a _surprise_ baby, _alone_ , in a filthy fucking bathroom. I spent _hours_ trying to figure out whether I had been poisoned or whether I had a fucking _gallstone_ until a _screaming child_ came out of me. I had, essentially, _zero_ time to think about what to do with him, because if anyone had found us, we’d both be dead right now. So, yes, I am not thrilled about this. This is _difficult for me_ . I spent _so much time_ trying to pretend like this _never fucking happened_ , just to have it all fall back into my lap again. So I’m sorry if you think that I’m not handling it as well as you would have, but I’d also like to point out that _you weren’t fucking there_.”

Raven and Hank stared each other down, with her still gripping the arms of her chair, until Charles broke the silence by clearing his throat. “Now, if anyone’s interested in what I think-” he said calmly, and Raven glared at him warily. “I must say I’ve had only a passing interaction with the boy, but it does seem as if his foster mother did a fine job. He’s bright, well-mannered-”

“He was also the star of the Munich Circus. Don’t forget that part.” Raven was quick to add. 

“Quite. Regardless, I have to say that I am disappointed, Raven, that you didn’t feel you could come to me about this, even after all we’ve been through. Especially as it pertains to a child that, under different circumstances, I may have thought of as a nephew. That said, I am willing to admit that my own behavior has played a...not-insignificant part in your decision to handle this on your own.” 

Raven took a deep breath, sinking into the chair and running a hand through her hair. “It was a clusterfuck from start to finish, Charles. What can I say?”

“So..wait…” Hank stammered, holding his hands up. “You’re not even going to ask her who the father is?”

Charles glared at Hank indignantly. “No.” he replied immediately. “Firstly, because it’s none of my business, but also because I know enough about genetics that I could just figure it out on my own if I cared...which, as I stated, I do not.”

Raven gave her hair a nonchalant toss. “He’s dead anyways, so…” she trailed off with an overdramatic shrug. 

Hank took his glasses off to roughly rub both eyes with an aggravated groan.  
  


******

Kurt teleported to the room he and Scott shared, just to the side of his bed. He collapsed to his knees immediately, setting his elbows on the soft plaid bedspread. Normally, when he was upset, he would find comfort in prayer. Now, however, his mind was so jumbled that even stringing the all-too-familiar words together in his head seemed like too much of a task. Instead, he pressed his face into the bedding, crossing his arms over the back of his head, attempting to block out light, sound, and everything else. He did this as long as he could hold his breath, and then spun around with a gasp when he finally ran out of air. He sat on the floor, back against the bed, with his legs and listless tail splayed out of front of him. 

‘ _I don’t want to talk to him! I don’t even wanna look at him_.’ echoed over and over in his head. In between repetitions, he scolded himself for not anticipating this- maybe not this _exactly_ , but something _like_ this, happening someday. He had always known that he was adopted. It would have been hard for his mother to pass him off as her natural child when both his siblings clearly remembered the night a stranger knocked on their caravan door and handed him over, wrapped in a bath towel. He also had very little interest in seeking out his biological parents because he understood, from a very early age, that they hadn’t wanted him. He also understood _specifically why_ they hadn’t wanted him. 

He had, over the years, developed a mental image of what his birth mother must have been like. He would daydream about a rather plain, justifiably panicked young woman, who was afraid but trying to do the best she could by leaving her baby with Margali Szardos - the intense, unshakable travelling fortune teller who would become his mother. He would sometimes fantasize that this young woman might find herself in the crowd during one of his acrobatic performances, recognize him, and be _proud-_ both of him, and of herself for finding him such a good family. To learn that his birth mother was another mutant- in fact, one of the most famous mutants in the world- was a shock. To know that she was one of the only people who would have even a vague idea of what it was like to live in society with an extremely physical mutation, and yet she still couldn’t even stand to look at him...that hurt worse than he could have ever imagined. The fact that he had ostensibly inherited some of his more unsettling features directly from her was just salt in the wound. He glanced down at his bizarrely shaped hands and feet, as well as his tail, and grimaced as he tried to imagine what his father must look like. 

He tipped his head back against the mattress with a quiet groan, his face in his hands. While he was still a touring acrobat, he had become what his sister gleefully described as ‘circus-famous’. It’s possible that the people who ran the cage fighting ring tried to capitalize on having obtained him, and Raven may have found out and only rescued him out of a sense of obligation. She had just been trying to keep him alive, and in return he had followed her home like a stray dog. It was really no wonder that Raven found him so difficult to tolerate. She probably regretted having even bothered. 

He lowered his hands enough to peer across the room at the sports car-themed calendar mounted on the wall next to Scott’s bed. A sharp pang of homesickness joined his already-dismal mood. This time of year, when he was still performing with _Der Jahrmarkt,_ they would have been touring through some of the prettier parts of Belgium, before re-entering Germany and heading towards Munich for the winter. He dreamed about it almost nightly: the bright lights, the blaring music; him in his sleek black, red, and white costume, and his sister beside him with her bright red-sequined leotard; the moment during the performance of a particularly death-defying feat where the crowd shifted from horrified gasps to raucous applause... It was a hard, fast-paced lifestyle, devoid of many of the comforts of his new, American-style existence. But it was all he had ever known, and he hadn’t understood how good it was until it was taken away from him. It was almost impossible for him to explain to anyone else, but he felt freer and more comfortable performing in front of hundreds of people than he ever did walking down the street or standing in a breadline. Under the big top, everything was real, and nothing was. 

The only thing he wanted was to go home. To knock on the door of his mother’s caravan and be invited back in. But ever since their circus was sold and he and his brother parted ways with their mother and sister, he had no idea where their new touring schedule had taken them. He had not had any contact with Margali or Jimaine in over a year. And Stefan was just as likely to be in prison as he was to have died of a drug overdose in an alleyway by now...unless ridding himself of his odd, burdensome younger brother had allowed him to finally get a job and sort his life out. Kurt’s eyes stung, and soon tears were streaming down his face. He made no move to wipe them away. His life had disintegrated long before Raven declared that she wanted no part of it. It had started before he was forced into an electrified cage to kill another boy, and even before his brother had sold him to people who drugged him and stuffed him into a different cage, to be mocked and prodded by strangers. Things had fallen apart for him as soon as he left his mother’s house, and now there was no way for him to ever return home. 

Finally, he let out a shaky sigh, sniffled, and stood abruptly. He wiped his face with his sleeve and moved towards the dresser on his side of the room. He wasn’t going to accomplish anything by feeling sorry for himself. He flung open the top drawer and started pulling out shirts and slacks. There was no way he could remain here, knowing how much Raven resented his presence. She was so well respected by his new friends that if they found out, they would probably grow to hate him, too. Besides, she was his biological mother and had both given him life and went out of her way to save it- he owed it to her to respect her wishes. Maybe with his new mechanical and welding skills he had gained from working with Doctor McCoy, he could find a job in a workshop or a junkyard or a factory? He had at least a passing familiarity with much of continental Europe and he spoke several languages- perhaps by the grace of God he could find someone kind enough to overlook his appearance and give him a chance to show how helpful, fast-learning, and dutiful he was. Doctor McCoy had said as much...assuming he had been telling the truth, and not just covering for having given Kurt a job just to keep him from bothering Raven... 

The thought forced Kurt to freeze with a small stack of undershirts clenched in his hand, with a deep frown on his face. He dropped them quickly and crouched to reach under his bed, pulled out a plain kitbag, and set it on top of his dresser. He wiped his eyes again before he started stuffing the modest collection of clothing into the bag, stopping only when he came across a pair of plaid pajama pants that he had been given by Scott. He turned towards the large cork board on the wall between his and Scott’s beds, and looked over the things that had been tacked to it: movie tickets, a newspaper clipping or two, and lots and lots of pictures. Over a dozen photographs of various sizes decorated the board- many pictures he featured in, others he knew he had actually taken. There was one at the arcade with him and Jubilee- both of them were smiling and she had thrown her arms around his neck. There was one where he, Peter, and Scott were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the mansion’s gated driveway- he and Peter were grinning, and Scott was trying not to smile so he would look cooler. There was a group photo in front of the pool where Jean was peering coolly from over the top of her sunglasses, Ororo and Jubilee were doing a “Charlie’s Angels” pose and laughing, Peter was trying (and failing) to flex, Scott was staring at Peter in disgust, and Kurt held a beach ball. 

Kurt forced himself to turn away and back towards his dresser as tears started running down his face anew. It was nice while it lasted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obviously, the title is from the 1983 Culture Club song of the same name. I picked it because 1) It's a catchy, era-appropriate jam, 2) if I recall, there was a bit from a deleted scene in Apocalypse where Scott teased Jean by suggesting she resembled Boy George, and 3) traditionally, Mystique's superpower hasn't been 'changing her looks' so much as it has been 'avoiding the consequences of her actions.' 
> 
> Stay tuned next week, for more shit hitting the fan.


	7. Tell Her About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt tries to tie up a few loose ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting fact: Ororo Munroe is a literal goddess and none of us deserve her.

When Kurt was finished packing his kitbag, he slung it over his shoulder and looked back at his dresser. On it were two piles of neatly folded clothing- one pile of clothes he had bought since arriving in America but that he didn’t have room to take with him, and another pile of hand-me-down pajamas and a hoodie sweater that Scott had given him. He paused, staring at the pile of Scott’s clothes, drumming his fingers on the strap of his kitbag as he mulled over his options. Scott had freely offered him some well-worn pajama bottoms and old t-shirts when he saw that Kurt only had his odd circus outfit and nothing to sleep in. The hoodie had just managed to find its way into Kurt’s laundry and had never found its way back. But it was never made clear if Scott had given Kurt those things, or if he was just allowing Kurt to borrow them. As such, he couldn’t just take them. 

He set his kitbag down and moved the neat stack of clothes onto the foot of Scott’s bed. In doing that, something else caught his eye. Jean’s Walkman, with her new _Culture Club_ tape still inside, was sitting on his bedside table. She had all-but-insisted that he borrow it for a couple days, because she was unable to convince anyone else in their group that Boy George was a lyrical genius, and thought that Kurt would see the light. He knew that if he just put the Walkman with Scott’s things, then Scott would over-think the simple action of giving it back to Jean, and it would sit, collecting dust, on Scott’s dresser while he figured out the coolest way to return the device to her. 

He stood, chewing his lip, as he considered how best to get these things in order before he left. He had hoped that he would be gone before his friends returned from their trek to the mall, because he wasn’t sure that he would have the strength to leave if he actually had to say goodbye to them. 

Suddenly, the perfect solution struck him. He picked up a canvas bag from his dresser and stuffed Scott’s clothes, as well as Jean’s Walkman, inside. If he took the bag to Jean’s room and hung it on her doorknob, then _she_ would have to return Scott’s things to _him_ , thus eliminating the awkwardness of forcing Scott to talk to Jean, but still allowing them to interact. He hastily wrote a note thanking Scott and Jean for allowing him to borrow those things, placed it on top of the pile of stuff in the bag, and prayed that the note was legible. 

He teleported to the girl’s dorms and was in front of Jean’s door in a few quick strides. He slung the straps of the canvas bag over the doorknob, but recoiled when the door creaked open a few centimetres. It had been closed over, but not completely latched.To his horror, a familiar voice from within the room chimed “Who is it?” and in the brief period it took him to debate between answering and just teleporting away, the door was flung open and Ororo Munroe now stood before him. 

“Oh! Kurt! How are you?” she asked pleasantly, leaning against the door frame. 

“I, uh...was just returning some things. For Jean.” Kurt stammered, feeling almost as if he had been caught doing something illegal. He held up the canvas bag as proof. 

“I’ll make sure she gets it.” 

“ _Danke schön_.”

He set the straps of the bag in her outstretched palm, and then immediately started wringing his hands nervously. The day’s previous events had already made him edgy and distracted, and now the expectation of having to have a conversation with Ororo seemed an insurmountable task. He had difficulty talking to Ororo at the best of times. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her- in fact, he liked her very much. As the only other foreigner in the group, they often found themselves relating to one another, and there was an unspoken agreement that they would ‘have each other’s back’ if there was an argument about American culture or the English language. He had learned that she was witty and funny and interesting and kind. It was just the fact that she was probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in real life that made it a challenge to string coherent sentences together. 

Kurt’s other female friends, Jean and Jubilee, were also very pretty, in that both of them looked like they could have walked off a photoshoot for a fashion catalog. Scott might disagree, but he probably belonged in the same catalog. Tall and elegant, Ororo possessed a stunning, ethereal beauty and seemed to project an almost regal aura. Women like Ororo were not photographed so much as they were rendered in gold or marble.

It occurred too late to Kurt that he had been standing stupidly for an inordinate amount of time, and he should probably say something. “You didn’t go to the mall?” he asked, head tilted. His voice sounded way more bewildered out loud than he intended. 

Ororo shrugged and tugged at her lightning bolt earring. “I did go for a while, but they wanted to go to the theater, and had decided on some sports movie...I don’t really care about football and I have a book I need to finish by Wednesday, so I came home.”

“What book?”

“ _Nineteen-Eighty-Four_. I have a quiz on it Wednesday afternoon.”

“Oh, I haven’t read that one yet. Is it good?”

“It is, but it’s also terribly depressing.” 

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Hmm.” Another awkward silence fell between them, during which Ororo snuck a peek into the bag Kurt had given her, which she now held. “You’re returning Jean’s Walkman, I see. What did you think of that tape she lent you? I...didn’t _dislike_ it, but I didn’t love it as much as she insisted I would.”

“I didn’t get a chance to listen to it yet. I just heard their one song on the radio, which was okay.” Kurt explained.

“Well, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it for a few more days.”

“That’s probably true, but…” Kurt trailed off, realizing far too late that he had said more than he intended. Ororo stared back expectantly, and he was forced to finish his thought. “I have to go back to Europe, so I’m returning it now.” He hadn’t wanted to tell anyone he was leaving, but he also hated lying and was terrible at it. He just hoped that Ororo wouldn’t ask too many questions.

“That’s so exciting! I’ve always wanted to go to Europe…” she replied with a bright grin, and then clicked her tongue against her teeth, scolding herself. “Listen to me. You’re not some tourist. I’m sure it’s different when you’re from there.” 

He relaxed slightly, managing a friendly shrug. “That just means I can show you all the best spots that only the locals know about.” He smirked a little, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We could start with the Bavarian Alps and go from there…”

She crossed her arms, smiling and relaxing against the door frame. “I would offer to return the favor, but Egypt is just a collection of tourist traps and places to avoid. The Great Pyramids, for example? Very overrated.”

Kurt scratched his head. “I’m not surprised. Aren’t they just big triangles?”

Her sudden burst of laughter surprised him. “Yes. Just big triangles in the desert. Like some massive child forgot to pick their toy blocks out of the sandbox.” They both giggled, after which she added more seriously, “The Sphinx is worth seeing, though.”

“Hmm. I think I’ll wait until its nose is fixed.” 

“Ha!” Her head tipped back with actual, genuine laughter, and the sudden realization that he’ll never get to see that again wipes the smile off his face.

“I won’t keep you, then. I’m sure you have to pack and make plans.” Ororo said pleasantly, transferring the bag she held to the other hand. 

“I’m already packed. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.” Kurt replied plainly.

“Oh. Wow. That is very sudden.” Ororo straightened up, clearly shocked. It quickly passes, and when she reaches out to pull him into a quick, friendly hug, it’s his turn to be shocked. He wrapped his tail around his ankle just to keep it to himself. “Have a great time!” she said, before pulling away again, but keeping a hand on each of his shoulders. “Send us a postcard! And we’ll send one back, with perhaps Mount Rushmore or the Grand Canyon, so you can show your family!” 

He cringed a little and looked at the floor. “I can send you a postcard, but you won’t be able to send me one. I doubt I’ll have a fixed address.”

“Is that so?” she questioned, and then perked up. “Oh! Are you going on tour with your circus friends? Like a ‘The Incredible Nightcrawler’ farewell reunion tour?”

Ororo had clearly missed her calling by not becoming a detective. Kurt frowned to himself, still looking at the floor, trying to figure out how to satisfy her curiosity without lying or inviting still more questions. Deep down inside, he had to admit he liked the attention. Without looking back up, he gave his head a small shake. “No acrobatics in the near future for me, I think.”

He must have sounded more somber than he intended, and Ororo’s expression instantly straightened. “Goddess, Kurt, I’m sorry!” she blurted. “Here I am, acting like you’re going for a vacation, but I haven’t even thought to ask _why_ you are leaving. Is everything alright? Did something happen with your family?”

Kurt froze, wondering if he should just teleport away while he still has a chance. “Um, _nein_. No. Not really…” he rambled frantically. “Not exactly, anyway. Everyone’s alive, I suppose.” Ororo stared back with ever-increasing concern and confusion as she crossed her arms. “It’s a little complicated.” he finally concluded. 

“Well, I won’t pry.” Ororo assured him. “Just please remember to take care of yourself.”

“ _Danke_ , Ororo.” he replied with a polite nod. “I really am going to miss you.” he added before he could stop himself.

She smiled, leaning her head against the door frame. “We will miss you too. Now, how long should I tell the rest of the team that you’ll be gone for? They’ll be upset that they didn’t get to see you off.”

“Aah....” Kurt wrung his hands compulsively as he stood with his mouth hanging open. “That’s a good question…” he offered lamely, wracking his brain to come up with something that at least sounded plausible. Ororo’s genuinely concerned look returned, and as much as it would be easy to just blurt out a made-up time frame and run away, the thought of her and his other friends expecting his eventual return in vain just made him sad. He was tired. _Gott im Himmel_ , he was so tired. His entire life had fallen apart in an afternoon and he just did not have the energy to pretend like it hadn’t anymore. 

He stilled his nervous fidgeting, stood up straight, and dared to look Ororo in the eye. “I’m not coming back. I’m going to Europe for good.”

Ororo gasped heavily, gripping the door frame and bringing her hand to her face. “You are!? Why? I thought you liked it here!” 

Kurt shrunk back, fumbling with his hands again. He was not expecting her to become so distraught. “Hmm. It’s a long story, but essentially it’s just some...family issues...I need to deal with, and…” he stammered as she was clearly not satisfied by a single thing he said. He stopped mid-sentence, shaking his head, and looked around him. He was doing her no favors by lying to her now. And if the truth was hurtful, then so be it. He would soon be thousands of kilometres away from it all.

“I need to leave the country because I accidentally found out today that Raven is my birth mother, and she’s just been tolerating me out of politeness but she doesn’t actually want me here, so really, the sooner I’m back in Europe, the better.” he blurted in a single breath, standing straight with his hands clutched behind his back, and waited for Ororo’s response.

“WHAT?!” Ororo exclaimed, and when he only shrugged in response, she grabbed his upper arm and hauled him into the room she and Jean shared. She pulled him to the rolling office chair in front of her desk and ordered him to sit, and then immediately marched to Jean’s desk across the room, grabbed her chair, and pulled it so that it was directly in front of where Kurt was sitting. She sat in that chair, their knees only a few centimetres apart, and looked him in the eyes, gesturing towards him with both hands. “Now. Tell me the rest of the story.”

Kurt gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. “That’s it. That’s the whole story.”

“That _can’t_ be the whole story.” Ororo argued. “How did you find this out? Do you even know for sure that it’s true?”

Kurt shrugged and nodded, setting his hands on his knees. “I overheard her saying it to Doctor McCoy. I was doing some maintenance to the Blackbird and she didn’t see me. She was very clear about it.” Ororo leaned back in her chair, brow furrowed. “Plus, one has to admit there is something of a family resemblance.”

“Hmm. That is true…” she concurred, her hand on her chin. “Do you think this means that Doctor McCoy is your father?”

“I...have no idea. I have not thought that far ahead.” Kurt admitted. 

“Besides-” Ororo was quick to add, “you shouldn’t have to leave just because she’s been having to tolerate you. Just let her keep tolerating you. You aren’t exactly difficult to tolerate.”

“ _Doch_ -” 

“You know what is _actually_ difficult to tolerate? The way that Scott and Peter act when you aren’t here.” she accused seriously. “‘Where did Kurt go? Do you know where Kurt is? ‘Sup, bro, you seen Kurt around?’” she added, managing to do a decent, if exaggerated, impression of Scott and Peter’s respective accents. “You can’t just leave and expect me to deal with that, it’s unfair.”

Kurt couldn’t keep from smirking slightly. “I would hope that they would figure it out after a few weeks.” She smiled, giving a small shrug. Kurt sighed, slumping into the chair and looking down at his hands now clasped on his lap. “In any case, there’s not much I can do about it. I think she really hates me.”

Ororo frowned, shaking her head. “Enough to justify you leaving the team? The entire _continent_ ? What about your studies? What about your work with Doctor McCoy? What about _us_ ?” Kurt could only offer a bewildered shrug in response. Ororo wasn’t nearly done. “ And to do _what_ , exactly?” she pressed. “Do you have any place to go? People to stay with? A way to make money? Or are you just going to become a transient person, hitchhiking and doing odd jobs for food?” 

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Why would I hitchhike? I can still teleport.”

“Good.” Ororo said emphatically. “You’re far too sweet. Those people would eat you alive.”

Unbidden, Kurt’s tail curled its way into his lap, and he automatically grasped it with both hands. “Look, Ororo, I...This has all happened very fast. I don’t have all the details figured out yet.” 

Ororo straightened in her chair, letting out a long exhale. “In Egypt, I essentially lived in the streets. I often found myself needing to steal for food, or for protection.” 

“Yes, you had mentioned that before.”

“I really don’t think that’s a life for you.” Ororo said plainly. “I don’t think you could survive.”

Kurt pursed his lips and nodded stiffly. “I appreciate your concern.” She stared back, undeterred. He let go of his tail, which promptly coiled around the arm of the chair as he set his face in his hands, groaning quietly before looking back up. “But honestly, what choice do I have? How can I spend every day living and working with someone who resents my presence and wishes I was never born?”

Ororo cast a sympathetic look. “Goddess, Kurt, is it really that bad?”

“She compared me to a _giant teleporting mosquito_.”

“...Oh.” 

“ _Ja_. I’ve put up with all manner of comments and insults over the years, but I have to admit that that one actually hurts.”

Ororo shook her head with a rueful sigh.

“Regardless, it’s not like it matters.” Kurt continued, looking down and tugging on the sleeves of his shirt, “Whether I like it or not, Raven is my mother and if she doesn’t want me here, I have to respect that. ‘Honor thy father and thy mother’ is one of the Ten Commandments. The Bible is pretty clear about obeying one’s parents.”

Ororo leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and staring at Kurt as a skeptical look crept across her face. Something about the intensity of her attention made Kurt feel uncomfortable, and he chewed his lip and averted his eyes. She continued to look him over for several seconds, clearly deep in concentration. “Hmm. I have to say, the principle of respecting parental authority makes a lot of sense. In general, it is probably a good idea.”

Kurt shrugged slightly and nodded in agreement.

“However, I would argue that it’s a misapplied concept in this case. In fact, I contend that you are under no obligation to obey Raven at all, because she’s not your mother.” 

Kurt’s face screwed up in confusion. “Could you perhaps explain that to _her_ , then? Because she’s under the impression that she is.”

“Oh, she may have given birth to you. That part’s probably true.” Ororo admitted. “But that’s not enough to justify having you leave your home, your school, your friends, and your job just because she wishes.” Sensing that Kurt was not exactly following along, she uncrossed her arms and shifted closer to him. “Now, I’ve heard you describing your mother before- your foster mother. She’s a palm reader or something of the sort, correct?”

“A fortune teller. Her name is Margali.” Kurt corrected, then added as an afterthought, “She can read palms, though. And tea leaves. And Tarot cards.”

“Hmm. Talented woman.” Ororo remarked. “So I assume that she was also the person who would have fed you, clothed you, comforted you when you were upset...all the usual parenting responsibilities…”

Kurt nodded emphatically. “ _Ja_ , absolutely. All that and more. My siblings and I didn’t go to school, so she had to teach us everything herself. And I could never go to a hospital, so if I got sick or hurt, she had to deal with that on her own as well.” 

“I see. And I can’t imagine people made it very easy for her.”

Kurt shook his head slowly. “No. They very much did not.” Life for a single mother of three was probably a challenge in and of itself, but Kurt knew that raising a child like him was something most simply couldn’t cope with. It was only when he was in his teens that he started to fully understand how much Margali had protected and shielded him over the years. From old people’s superstitions and righteous ramblings about the devil to physical threats and, on a few occasions, actual attempted murder- Margali faced it all so her youngest child wouldn’t have to. As a mother, she was warm and affectionate, but also at times demanding and strict. Her expectations for all of her children were very high. But the discipline she impressed upon her children was nothing compared to the wrath faced by anyone who threatened her family’s well being. Kurt eventually grew to pity anyone who drew the ire of someone who was clearly the most fearless and intimidating woman in the entire world. 

Ororo sat back in her chair, clearly not needing him to elaborate to appreciate the weight of his words. She paused for a moment, with her knuckle brought up to her chin, as she thought. “My mother and father both passed away when I was very young. I don’t know how old I was, exactly. Not quite school age, but not so young that I don’t remember them.”

“I’m sorry.” Kurt said solemnly. He had known Ororo’ parents were deceased, but she hadn’t spoken openly about them.

“Thank you. My understanding is that my father was a photojournalist, and he met my mother when he was in Kenya. They married and had me, and they were living in an apartment in Cairo for a few years. They were killed when an explosion caused our apartment building to collapse with us inside.”

“ _Gott_ …”

“When the room we were in began to collapse, the only thing my parents had time to do was to throw themselves over me, to protect me as things started to fall apart. They were killed instantly. I, as you can clearly see, survived.” 

Kurt watched her expression shift into something darker, more disturbed. Her brow furrowed and her voice wavered as she continued, “It took _so long_ ...days, at least...for me to be rescued. _Days_ in pitch blackness, no water or food, with only the sound of my breathing echoing off the rubble...pressed on all sides by my parent’s bodies and the ruins of our dining room furniture, the heat, the _smell_ -” She stopped herself suddenly, looking away and bringing a hand up as if to defend herself from the onslaught of harsh memories. 

After a brief moment, she took a deep breath and smoothed out a hair on the side of her Mohawk. Kurt listened intently, his hands pressed together and held under his chin, as she quickly regained her composure, looking at him again. “That is actually my clearest, strongest memory.” she explained. “Other things about my parents, I only have in glimpses. When I think of how my mother looks, I realize that what I’m remembering is mostly from a picture from her youth I was shown by her distant relatives, years after her death. They would go on about how much I looked like her. I remember the perfume she wore much more clearly. My father, I remember, would hum to himself almost all the time. Sometimes, in a crowded place, I could swear that I hear him calling my name.”

“ _Gott_ , Ororo, I’m so sorry. I had no idea…” Kurt breathed regretfully.

Ororo returned a half-smile. “You’re very kind. But I’m not telling you this so that you can feel bad for me. “ She opened her hands to him, palms up, as she explained, “You see, I can’t say that I knew my parents. I don’t know what they liked, who they were as people. I can’t remember what bedtime stories they read to me, or even how they looked. But I _know_ , as much as I know anything, that they **loved me** . They loved me more than they loved one another. More than they loved _being alive_.”

Kurt gasped when she suddenly reached across the space between them, grasping both his hands with both of hers. He gawked at how her ten slender, elegant fingers wrapped around his six large, clawed ones. As much as most were hesitant to touch him, people seemed to find his hands especially unsettling. Ororo apparently hadn’t gotten the memo.

He looked back up to find her staring into his eyes, a look of intense seriousness in her face. “Kurt, Raven may have given birth to you, but she has been no mother to you. A parent is someone who wants what is best for their children. My parents wanted the best for me, even if it meant not being able to stay with me. Raven wants only what is best for herself. She doesn’t love you and she doesn’t know you, and she can’t make decisions for you.” she stated, clear and authoritative. “And I- no, _all of us_ \- will not allow you to leave us on her account. Her feelings are hers to deal with, and hers alone. If she says or does things that hurt you, we will support you.” 

Kurt took a breath, in order to say something, but no words came. He chewed his lip, fang poking out, as he tried to swallow down the hard lump forming in his throat. His eyes were starting to burn again. 

“Now, if, someday, you need to leave us, that’s fine. If Margali writes you a letter and wants you to rejoin the circus, and that’s what you want to do, then we will be happy for you. We’ll throw you a going-away party. But I don’t want to hear that you felt forced out of your home, and threw away an opportunity to change the world for young mutants like yourself, in order to wander aimless and destitute around Europe and get murdered while hitchhiking.”

He tried to stifle a short laugh, which morphed somehow into a sob. He smiled, chuckling a little even as he sniffed and a few tears made their way down his face. She released one of his hands so that he could press the heel of his palm into his eye to wipe the rest of the tears away. “I wasn’t going to hitchhike!” he insisted weakly, and they both laughed. She let go of his other hand, holding hers in her lap as she let him sort himself out. “Why are you so worried about me hitchhiking?” he asked, after he had taken a few breaths and wiped his face with his sleeve.

“I watched an investigative report on NBC about serial killers who prowl the highways for vulnerable, naive young people.” she replied matter-of-factly. “It’s a national crisis.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, if I were you.”

She grinned, setting her hands on her knees. “Excellent. I’ll take that to mean that you’ve decided to stay with us.” she said definitively.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m still not completely sure. But I do have to say that you are very persuasive.”

“Yes. I know.” She stood and reached for the canvas bag, which had caused this entire situation, and handed it back to him. “Now, you go on and take this back to your room. I’m sure Jean doesn’t need her Walkman back for a few more days.” 

Unable to argue, Kurt also stood and accepted the bag. They started walking towards the door together.

“I’m sure Scott doesn’t need those clothes back, either. That man owns more clothing than a girl.” Ororo added as she pulled the door open for him. They both laughed as he stepped into the hallway. Before he could turn away, she placed a hand just barely on his elbow. “You’re going to be fine. You’ll see.” she said, sounding absolutely certain. “And we’re all here for when you’re not.”

Kurt stared back, unable to reply or think of what he had done in his life to deserve a friend like this. He opened his mouth to thank her, to try and extend the same courtesy, or to try and put into words how much her concern meant to him, when the sound of a gaggle of approaching voices rang out from up the hall. 

“I found him!” Jean, who had just appeared from around the corner, called back towards the rest of the voices. “He was just hangin’ out with Ororo, no big deal.” she explained to Scott, who was close on her heel.

“Kurt! Where were you? We were looking all over!” Scott demanded as he and the rest of their group of friends caught up to Kurt and Ororo. Ororo elbowed Kurt in the ribs and cast him a knowing side-glance. “We checked the Danger room, we checked Hank’s lab…”

“He checked the pool shed, he checked the fucking utility closet…” Peter echoed flatly, as Jubilee rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“I was just returning some things that I borrowed.” Kurt replied hastily, pulling Scott’s hand-me-down pajamas out of the canvas bag he held.

“Oh. Nah, that’s cool, man. You keep those. I gave them to you, they don’t even really fit me.” Scott quickly assured.

“Oh. Okay. _Vielen Dank_.” 

“It’s just that, like, I got back from the mall and all your drawers are open and half your stuff’s gone…” Scott went on, moving his hands to evoke his confusion. “I just got kinda worried. I thought something might’ve happened.”

“Oh. Well…” Kurt started tentatively. “I suppose something did happen. I had to pack my things and be ready to leave for Europe in a hurry.”

A round of gasps and shocked murmurs were heard throughout the group. 

“What is it? Is everything okay?” Jean pressed, as Jubilee leaned in closer, eager for answers. 

“Hmm. I guess. Mostly. Sort of.” Kurt stammered lamely. “It’s not an emergency or anything, it’s just some...family things...that I need to deal with.” 

Jubilee and Scott nodded along, while Jean narrowed her eyes skeptically. Peter perked up and stepped obnoxiously close to Kurt, bumping him with his crutches and whispering loudly, “Dude! Did you get someone _pregnant_?!” 

Kurt’s hands flew to his mouth to cover his scandalized gasp, and his tail slapped Ororo’s door frame in agitation. “Peter! _Nein!_ Of cou-”

“Cuz, like, you’ll get no judgments from me, bro. Just let us know if it’s a boy or a girl so I know what color onesie to get you.” Peter assured, trying to calm Kurt with both hands held out, while also ignoring him entirely.

Scott put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, pulling him back from a very relieved Kurt. “Is there anything we can do to help?” Scott asked, once Peter had been subdued. 

Kurt cringed, wringing his hands and shrinking back from the group. “No, _danke_. I just have to do this on my own.”

“Why not just get your chick to come here?” Peter offered with a casual hair toss. “Better digs and free babysitters.” He motioned towards himself and the rest of the team. 

“Peter!” Kurt snapped.

“That gives me a great idea!” Jean announced, holding up both hands spread wide. “Just hear me out: Mutant. Baby. Daycare!” 

“Oh, _fuck you_ , Jean!” Jubilee shot back, sounding both profoundly offended and disgusted.

“We can start small and build up from there. I’m _sure_ I can get the Professor to agree to it…” Jean continued smugly.

“No, Jean…” Kurt pleaded. “Well...actually yes, and I think that’s an excellent idea, but it’s not going to happen right now.” He clutched his hands together. “There’s no girl and there’s no baby and nobody’s _expecting_ …anything, really. I have a different, less interesting problem that no one else can handle for me.”

“Oh. Okay.” came Scott’s small, disappointed reply. “You’ll be back, though…right?”

“Uhh…” Kurt’s arms dropped to his sides and his tail curled around his calf as he wracked his brain for a response that would satisfy the five people who now eagerly awaited his reply. Never in his life had he had friends like these. He had never fathomed that he could hurt someone just by going away. He just didn’t know if he could do it. But he wasn’t sure if he could stay, either.

He’s pulled from his stupor by the feeling of Ororo placing a hand on his nearest shoulder. “Actually, “ she interjected calmly, “Kurt and I were discussing some ways he could deal with his family issues on _this side_ of the Atlantic, and it looks like he may not have to leave after all. Isn’t that right?” She cast her wise, sunny gaze to him for confirmation.

He looked back to her and began to smile, despite everything. He could not imagine how anyone could say no to Ororo Munroe. He let out a sigh, feeling as though he could actually breath for the first time all afternoon. “That’s-”

“Kurt, you got a minute?”

All eyes turned to the corner of the hallway to see Raven, blue for the occasion, standing stern and impatient with her arms crossed.

Oh. _Verdammt._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title, which I admit is annoyingly literal, is from Billy Joel's 1983 song of the same name. 
> 
> Ororo's history, which I touched on in HTBAX, is mostly paraphrased from the comics. I also tried to have Kurt and Ororo interact in a way that doesn't contradict their interactions and relationship in HTBAX, so hopefully that went okay. 
> 
> Tune in (hopefully) next week, for what will surely be a clusterfuck.


	8. If You Saw Him Now, You’d Wonder Why...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes out in the wash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raven and Kurt finally have a talk.

“So, um...I’m sure you have a ton of questions…”

“I’m actually starting to think that the less I know, the better.”

Once Raven pulled Kurt away from the rest of the team, she had quickly led him to an empty classroom and shut the door behind them. Awkwardly and in complete silence, they situated themselves in the deserted room- Raven sat on top of the bare teacher’s desk, cross-legged while Kurt perched bird-like on the back of one of the student’s desks in the front row. Kurt briefly wondered if the inability to sit normally in a chair was a heritable trait.

“Now, first thing…” Raven started hesitantly, “I should probably apologize for the things that you, um... _overheard_ , I guess. Things that, _obviously_ , weren’t intended for your ears. So-”

“Actually, Raven, we don’t have to do this.” Kurt interrupted, holding both hands up. “I have had this conversation- or some version of this conversation- in my head countless times for as long as I can remember. I just don’t think it makes any difference.” Raven paused, staring back skeptically as she crossed her arms. “The only thing I feel needs to be said is that I understand that you would prefer if I left, but Ororo and I talked it over, and I’ve decided to stay here. So I suppose that we will just have to learn to live with each other.” he concluded with a slight nod.

“Huh. Okay. What business is it of Ororo’s?”

“She’s a friend.” Kurt answered easily, before sitting up straighter and holding his head higher. “I have friends here.”

Raven gave a long sigh, slumping forward until she propped her elbow on her knee. “Okay. So, contrary to _popular belief_ , I don’t actually want you to leave. In fact, I’d really prefer if you stayed. Plus, at this point, I’m pretty sure if you left, Hank would throw a tantrum, so…” She trailed off with a shrug before continuing, “And, like, sure. You do annoy me sometimes. But, really, so do the rest of you kids. Like, Scott? Drives me fucking bonkers. Jean? Even worse. Ororo really needs to stop starting every sentence with ‘When I was in Egypt,’ and Peter is ‘nails on a chalkboard’ personified. You’re really, like, _middle-of-the-pack_ when it comes to being annoying.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And the reason that I sounded upset earlier isn’t because I’m mad at _you_ , it’s because I’m mad about the fact that you were even _born_.”

“...Oh.”

“Which, now that I’ve gone and said it out loud, I realize is probably the worst possible way to word that. Fuck.” Raven swore at herself, and then looked around the room, as if an abandoned pencil or a rolling dust-bunny might help her explain herself better. She let out a long exhale and laced her fingers together, placing them at the junction of her crossed legs. “So, essentially, when I...When you were born, it, um...all kind of came as a shock, because-”

“I told you you don’t need to do this.” Kurt interrupted again, his tone soft and assuring. “I don’t need an explanation from you. You had an ugly baby and you panicked. It’s fine. You don’t need to tell me anything else.”

Raven closed her eyes for a few seconds, shaking her head slightly as she opened them again, actually looking directly at Kurt for the first time since they had entered the classroom. “Kurt, I didn’t think you were an ugly baby. I thought you were just the cutest fucking baby I had ever seen.” Kurt scoffed, staring back with deep confusion. Raven shifted per position, moving her hands around as she elaborated, “You were just so small, and your eyes were _huge_ and you had, like, _so much_ hair. You were like this feisty little wiggily ball with this cute little tail and these stubby little feet and chubby little fingers and your face was so chubby...Like, I know it’s ridiculous, but when I saw you in that cage years later, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Kurt pulled back, rocking the chair he perched on slightly, stifling a bewildered laugh. “ _Was_?” 

Raven shrugged and returned a half-smile. “Believe it or not, I had my eyes peeled for a _chunky_ blue kid.”

Kurt laughed again, despite himself, until he saw Raven look down, face becoming serious again. “The thing you have to understand, though, is that you _surprised_ me.” she began to explain. “I didn’t know I was pregnant, and you just kinda...showed up. At the _worst_ possible time. I had never even held a baby before, and, just...there you are. And you just _screamed and screamed_ and you just **needed** ... _so much_ and I just didn’t know what to do!” Raven now rambled breathlessly, eyes darting over the wooden surface of the desk she sat on. 

Kurt shrank down, hunching and hugging his knees as his tail wrapped itself around his ankles. Raven took a deep breath, looking up at him again. “Like, you wouldn’t stay where I put you, you crawled all over the place. You did all this weird shit newborns aren’t supposed to be able to do. You had teeth! You were born with teeth, did you know that? Like, pointy little kitten teeth, fangs and all. How was I supposed to even feed you?” she demanded, leaving Kurt unsure if she actually expected an answer.

“Margali just used a plastic medicine spoon.” he offered quietly, holding a finger up.

“See, I never would have thought of that in a million years.” Raven pointed out, letting her hands flop into her lap. She looked away and sighed. “I guess the whole ‘maternal thing’ just comes naturally to some women. The only reason you even ended up where you did is because I saw a poster for your circus on the inside of a phone booth. It advertised all kinds of...wacky shit, so I walked over. They were still setting stuff up, and I’m standing there watching a strong man pick up, like, _a stack_ of contortionists, and some bald shirtless tattooed guy just randomly breathes fire, for the fun of it. And then there’s your mother, setting up her little kiosk in her ‘fortune-teller’ get-up, with a couple kids running around her like something from a picture book.”

“It wasn’t a ‘get-up.’ That was just how she dressed.” Kurt interjected politely. 

Raven shrugged and continued. “So I kinda figured, you know, this is your best shot. So I waited until after dark and knocked on her door. She opens it and she’s got the little blonde girl on her hip like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The older boy’s behind her lugging this really fat house cat around. I had made myself look as pitiful as possible, and I just shed a few crocodile tears and handed you over after spinning some kinda yard. I don’t even remember. Anyway, clearly, she bought it.” 

“She told me she thought it was a sign from God.” Kurt recalled warmly.

“Heh. Well, sorry to disappoint.” Raven replied, gesturing towards herself. She scoffed a little and looked down. “Hell, there might have been something too that, though. I definitely had no backup plan about what to do with you if she didn’t take you.”

“There was no orphanage in the city?” Kurt asked, tilting his head curiously.

Raven reeled back, a disgusted sneer flashing across her face. “Absolutely not. I would have fucking _drowned you_ before putting you in a goddamn orphanage.”

Kurt froze, gaping in shock, and she leaned forward to elaborate. “See, I know I’ve had it easier than a lot of mutants, in some ways. I mean, yes- I look the way I do, but if I didn’t like how my life was, I could just go live someone else’s life for a few hours or a couple days. I could always blend in. But then I find myself sitting there, _holding_ you, _looking_ at you, and I realize that that is never going to be an option for you. I knew the world would stop at nothing to _crush_ and _twist_ and _destroy_ you...and there was nothing I could do about it. I’d seen it happen to so many people...even people who could hide their mutation. That’s why your father...was the way that he was. That, I think, was the worst part of it, for me- thinking that I created a person who would have been better off if they’d never been born.”

Kurt stared at his hands as Raven spoke, nodding and chewing his lip for a moment after she finished. A dead silence had fallen over the room and Raven, apparently thinking the conversation over, swung her legs over the edge of the desk in preparation to leave.

“If it makes any difference,” Kurt said softly, immediately before Raven actually got off the desk, “I don’t think that. I’ve had a good life, with a good family. You chose my mother well. You did a good job.”

“Yeah, it looked like things were going great for you when I found you.” she replied sarcastically.

“That’s true…” Kurt admitted, “but that wasn’t Margali’s fault. I left home on my own to find work.”

“Right. Because letting a minor wander around East Germany on his own is really responsible parenting.”

“I didn’t leave on my own. I left with my brother. He was twenty-two at the time.” Kurt quickly explained. “We, uh...had a falling-out after that. That’s where the trouble started.”

“Hmm.”

“I do actually have a question, if you don’t mind me asking…” Kurt followed.

Raven brought her legs back up onto the desk, crossing them again. “Shoot.”

“What was my father like?”

“Uh, well…” Raven started with a cringe. “He was...not a great person…”

“Oh.” Kurt breathed regretfully, brows furrowing in concern. “Did he...hurt you?”

“Oh! Shit. No. He wasn’t like that.” Raven hurriedly explained. “Not to me, anyways. Like, he _did_ hurt people. He straight-up killed, like, _a lot_ of people. But me and him, though? We were good. Not that we were, like, _together_ or anything. Like, obviously, we, um, _got_ together...but it was kinda like a one-night-stand that somehow turned into a three-month-stand, if you catch my drift...” 

Raven halted her rambling when she saw Kurt’s confused, disturbed gawking expression.

“Nice one, Raven- everybody loves knowing how they were conceived…” she scolded herself before taking a deep breath and placing her hands on her knees and starting again. “Alright, so- your father was another mutant named Azazel. Me and Erik worked with him for a while in the sixties, but he was from Russia and had been trained by the KGB. He also did work as a hired assassin. Let’s just say he was _highly effective_.”

“Oh.”

“You take after him quite a bit. The tail, your height, your hair color...that’s all from him. He was also a teleporter. But he could take, like, any amount of people almost anywhere in the world….though that might be due to having been trained by the KGB and not by a bunch of literal clowns…”

“I was actually trained by a trapeze artist.”

“Super.” Raven replied flatly. “Anyway, what else? Um...he had blue eyes...like, really _really_ blue eyes...muscular build...Oh! And his skin was completely red. And he had a cool goatee and a badass scar on his eye.”

“I see.” Kurt followed along. “But what was he _like_? What sort of person was he?” After a brief pause, he added, “Can I meet him?”

“Ah, no.” Raven replied abruptly. “He’s dead. He was killed a couple years after you were born. He never knew about you.”

Kurt looked to the ground, accepting this information with a single solemn nod.

“And, really, he was...a _different_ sort of guy. See, he was raised in one of those shitty old Soviet orphanages where the nurses don’t ever pick the babies up so that they eventually learn to stop crying. And because, like us, he was born with a highly visible mutation, he was always separated from the other children. He never had, like, a friend, or even a toy. Of course, once his powers actually manifested, they shipped him off to the KGB. He was trained to kill at an age where most kids still believe in the Tooth Fairy.” Raven explained, staring at her hands as she did so. “He didn’t even have a real name- that he knew of, anyway. He was only ever called Azazel.”

Kurt slowly shook his head as he listened to Raven speak. “ _Gott im Himmel_ …”

“So, by the time I met him, he was essentially a trained killer who followed orders without question. He hardly ever spoke, because his whole life, no one ever spoke to him, except to give him instructions. He couldn’t relate to people. He rarely showed emotion of any kind. He had a hard time forming opinions. Like, if you asked him what color of shirt you should wear, he’d just stare at you. If you asked him what his favorite food was, he didn’t know. We could spend hours together, and all he would do is bark one-or-two word responses to questions I asked. We’d get in a fight- or, rather, _I’d_ get in a fight with _him_ \- and he’d just stand there while I screamed at him, and then when I ran out of breath, he’d just keep doing whatever it was he was doing, like nothing even happened. I honestly have no idea if he would have been capable of, like, _friendship_ or _love_.” Her explanation, which had become more rambling and animated as it went on, stopped suddenly. She gave a regretful sigh. “He was a broken man.”

Kurt glanced up at her, wringing his hands. “That’s very sad.”

“Yep.” Raven confirmed, raking her hands back through her hair. “Yes it is.” She then perked up, straightening her posture and looking away wistfully. “But, that said, he wasn’t, you know, a total robot or anything. He would do things sometimes that made me think there was a lot more going on in his head than he showed. He seemed to like cooking, and he always remembered what everyone’s favorites were. He didn’t laugh much, but he did have a sense of humor. For example, he always did this thing where he’d sing along to any song that was playing, whether it was a radio pop hit or a TV jingle, and I’d beg him to stop because he was actually the _worst singer who ever lived_ , and so he’d just sing _louder_ , and I’d be laughing my ass off, trying to forcibly cover his mouth because he was just so _goddamned awful_ …” 

When Raven burst into laughter from the memory, Kurt quickly joined her. “So, that’s another thing I must have gotten from him! I’m a _horrible_ singer!” he said once he could get a breath, and she laughed even harder. 

“That’s a damn shame!” she exclaimed with a grin. “I’m a _great_ singer!” 

Once the laughter died down, her expression darkened again. “Another thing he always did was watch people, and in particular, the relationships between people. If we were out on an assignment and he saw a family walking down the street, he would just _stare_ \- like just stand there gawking at these people. And I never really knew what it was about it that interested him so much- whether it was the man walking along with his wife and kids, or if it was the child, who was surrounded by loving parents. Either way, he just couldn’t get past it. And he always tried to go out of his way to spend time with me, or have us be alone together...but then just didn’t... _do anything_ ? I mean, sure, we, uh, _did stuff_ \- you exist, after all. But it was like he was trying to go through the motions of being, like, my boyfriend or something, but without all the personal interaction and emotions that actually form that kind of relationship. And, like, _I tried_. I really wanted to believe there was, I dunno, someone _in there_. I wanted to believe I could get through to him. But now, I really think there just wasn’t a ‘through.’ That’s just who he was. You see, he could never have been a husband or a lover or a friend or a father. Because the world took this person, this unique and beautiful man, and just fucking chewed him up.”

Kurt, who been covering his lower face with his hand, shook his head once it was clear Raven was done speaking. “ _Gott_ , Raven…” he breathed gravely, “I’m so sorry. For all of it, I just...I’m sorry.”

Raven closed her eyes, giving a quick shrug that she hoped looked casual. “Yeah, well, it’s not like it’s your fault.” She uncrossed her legs, dangling them over the side of the desk. “Plus, it looks like we managed to avoid that with you. You like things. You have feelings.” she pointed out. 

“Heh, _ja_ , that’s true. If anything, I have too many.” Kurt replied with a half-smile.

“Pfft. Well, you’ll fit right in here. Being an X-Man is like living in a soap opera.” Raven panned her hand around the room with a raised eyebrow. When he just smiled pleasantly in response, she gestured towards him. “So...you got any other questions, or…”

Kurt climbed down from the chair, and stepped towards Raven, standing with his hands clasped in front of him and his tail swaying slowly and rhythmically. “Could I hug you?” he asked shyly. 

Raven clenched her fists and leaned back. “Uh...not much of a hugger, sorry.”

“Oh. Alright then.” Kurt nodded and stood awkwardly, briefly looking as if he was going to attempt some other, lesser gesture before turning towards the door. “At the very least, I’m sure we will soon get to know each other better.”

Raven shot back a smile that was not really a smile at all. “Doesn’t look like we’ll have much of a choice!”

Kurt nodded once more and moved towards exit, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Wait. I did have one more question, if you don’t mind…”

Raven just gave a disinterested shrug.

“So…” Kurt started carefully, “Your last name is Darkhölm…”

“Right.”

“And my father didn’t have a last name.”

“Yes.”

“But my mother’s last name is Szardos.”

“Okay.”

“Who is Wagner?”

“Huh?”

“Why is my name Wagner? Where did that come from? Was it a false name you gave Margali?”

Raven stared back and frowned. “I gotta be honest. I got no fucking clue.”

Kurt tilted his head. “Hmm.”

They stared at each other in confused silence as seconds ticked by, until Raven suddenly slapped her hands down on her knees, shouting “I got it!” Kurt grinned back eagerly. “So, when I was in Germany, a few weeks before you were born, I stayed at this little family-run inn. The family who owned it were the Wagners. And I stole their fucking towels!”

Kurt’s mouth fell open and he stared back at Raven’s gleeful, excited face. 

“The towel I wrapped you in, when I gave you to Margali...it must have been embroidered with the inn’s logo!” Raven elaborated, thoroughly pleased with herself. 

“I’m named after a stolen bath towel?” Kurt asked flatly.

“Yes!” Raven confirmed enthusiastically. 

“Oh. Okay.” Kurt replied in a small voice, before he opened the door and walked into the hallway. 

Kurt made it a few steps up the hall as he mulled over where to teleport to, when he saw Scott emerge from the nearest corner, with Jean, Ororo, Peter, and Jubilee close on his heel. 

“Holy shit, dude!” Scott exclaimed, immediately grabbing Kurt supportively by the upper arms, “Are you okay?”

“Uh...yes?” Kurt replied, as he was quickly surrounded by his teammates. 

“I, um...sort of told them everything.” Ororo admitted with a cringe, pressing her palms together. “I hope that’s okay?”

“Yes, Ororo, it’s fine.” Kurt assured. “It’s not like it’s a secret anymore.”

“That is, like, some _heavy shit_ …” Jubilee added with a frown, shaking her head. She then immediately perked up. “So does this mean Hank’s your dad?” she asked, twirling her pigtail around her finger.

“Um, _nein_. Apparently he is not.” Kurt assured.

“We never would have left without you if we knew something like this was going to happen.” Jean interjected seriously, holding both hands out. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with this on your own.”

Kurt smiled warmly. “ _Danke_ , Jean. Don’t feel bad. I don’t think these things can be planned.”

There was some commotion as Peter awkwardly transferred the crutch under the arm closest to Kurt onto the other arm, so he could sling his arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “Bro! This means we get to be ‘weird, estranged parent’ buddies!” he announced, giving Kurt a shake. 

Despite everything, Kurt instantly cracked a broad smile and threw his arm around Peter’s shoulder in kind. “Peter, you are right!”

As a group, everyone started to walk up the hall, as it was almost dinner time. “When you think about it, we’re, like, _practically related_....” Peter added wistfully as Kurt struggled to keep him from falling over. 

Kurt laughed and shook his head as Peter hobbled along beside him. “If you say so…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is the chorus from Gordon Lightfoot's 1971 song "Summer Side of Life." It's an amazing song about longing, regret, lost opportunity...My favorite verse of the song is "He came down through fields of green On the summer side of life. He prayed all night. Then he walked into a house Where love had been misplaced. His chance to waste. And if you saw him now, You'd wonder why he would cry The whole day long." I just love Gordon Lightfoot.
> 
> So, anything in here about Azazel is mostly just my own HC. I haven't watched First Class in a long time, and I certainly don't care much for comic!Azazel, so I kinda just went with this. It may not be canon compliant. 
> 
> So that pretty much wraps up this story. The last chapter is actually just a short epilogue, which should be posted by next week or so. Thank you to everyone who read until this point, and especially thank you to anyone who left a comment and/or a kudos. It always makes my day! :-D


	9. Same As It Ever Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking place about a week after the last chapter, this chapter just serves as an epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a single, short conversation to wrap things up!

Later that week, Hank was in the process of cleaning off the chalkboard after one of his upper-level seminar classes. He glanced back, but did not stop cleaning, when he heard Raven walk into the room and flop down in one of the front-row seats. 

“Don’t you feel so much better now? That everything’s out in the open?” Hank spoke, sounding somewhat patronizing, without turning around. 

“Arg!” Raven groaned, and he could almost hear her roll her eyes. However, she soon sighed and replied, “You know what? As much as I hate to admit it, you were right. I feel like a massive weight’s been lifted off my shoulders.”

Hank set down his chalk brush and turned around, stepping forward to lean against the edge of the desk nearest Raven. “Good. I’m glad.” he said sincerely. 

Raven returned a polite half-smile.

Hank smiled back, but then looked down, exhaling and fidgeting with his hands. “Look, Raven, I...I’ve been meaning to apologize for my behavior the other day in Charles’ office.” He looked up, holding her gaze. “A lot of the things I said were unfair and cruel...not to mention rude.”

Raven gave an exaggerated shrug, letting her hands flop down into her lap. “Let’s just say that everyone was an asshole and the whole day was a write-off, and call it even?”

Hank smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

Raven leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and idly scratching behind her ear. “Except Kurt, though. He was actually really nice about the whole thing. He even told me I did a good job.”

Hank was unperturbed. “I told you he was a good kid.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Raven replied in a bored tone, before sitting up straighter and tilting her head. “Now, who the hell did he inherit THAT from?”

She and Hank chuckled a little, until Hank stood away from the desk and started gathering up his teaching materials. “Oh! On that…” he started as he sorted out various sheets of figures and bullet points, “Kurt dropped by my office earlier. He had some questions about Azazel, mostly about basic genetics and heritability of certain features, that he thought I might be able to help him with. I wasn’t sure where to start so I just handed him that medical file on Azazel that you had procured.”

Raven’s eyes went wide and a dire expression crossed her face. “What.”

Hank shrugged slightly as he gathered up his books. “I just told him to look through it and come back if he still had any questions…”

“Hank…” Raven’s voice was low and she clenched and unclenched her fists. “Was that the file that had all the autopsy photos in it?”

Hank stood upright immediately, dropping his books to the desk with a loud thud. “Fuck.”

“Well, where do you think he ran off with it? Maybe we can snatch it back before he looks at it-” Raven blurted, looking around the room. 

“No, this was over two hours ago.” Hank breathlessly admitted. 

“ **Motherfucker**!” she spat, fists shaking. She closed her eyes and pointedly took a deep breath, and gripped the side of the school desk she sat at. “Well, looks like he’s probably gonna need some therapy…”

“Oh, definitely.” Hank nodded solemnly, sinking down into the chair next to her. “But, that said, I was going over some of Charles’ psych assessments of the rest of the team, and I’m pretty sure they ALL need therapy, so…”

Raven frowned, nodding slowly. “Yup. I can see that. I mean, especially now that we’re involved with them-”

“Absolutely.” Hank agreed emphatically. “We’re _awful_ \- just _completely_ incompetent. Both as mentors and as teachers.”

Raven glanced upwards in consideration, and then nodded along. 

“In any case, what sort of moron lets people like _us_ teach and supervise their children? I mean, _seriously_?” Hank continued, staring off into space.

“Me, apparently.” Raven raised a hand. “ _I’m_ the moron who lets us teach and supervise her child. That should tell us a lot, right there!”

Hank turned to her, arms crossed, as his dire expression fell away and he burst into barely-suppressed laughter. 

Raven quickly started snickering along with him, before leaning back in the chair and raking her hands back through her hair with a long, weary groan. “Oh my God. What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title is from Taking Head's 1980 song "Once In A Lifetime." Talking Heads have so many amazing lyrics, it's absurd. I liked it because it has a sort of resigned, 'life goes on' feeling to it, which I feel is fitting for the end of a prequel.
> 
> I normally don't write Hank as swearing, but 1) I figure it's justified in this case and 2) I recently watched "The Great" with Nicholas Hoult in it, and I'm now convinced that Nicholas Hoult should be allowed to say "Fuck" constantly, and in every role he ever plays, forever. 
> 
> The part about the file with the autopsy photos in it is a reference to DOFP where Raven finds some files on people her and Erik worked with, who had since died and apparently been autopsied by US officials. Azazel's file was one of them, so I just figured they'd have a copy lying around the mansion somewhere. 
> 
> So that's it, people. That's the end of this story. Thank you, again, to everyone who read, liked, and commented on this work. I feel like I've made some fandom buddies since I've started posting fic, and I love and appreciate you all, and look forward to our interactions! I understand that the XMCU is sort of a dying fandom, but it's the only one I know how to write, so *shugs*


End file.
